


A Necessary Bond

by SPowell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, M/M, Mpreg, long-haired Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/SPowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As payment for a life debt, Harry finds himself in a marriage bond with Draco Malfoy.</p><p>cliches used for the hd cliche fest: mpreg, bonding on purpose, and Draco with long hair. :)</p><p>Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and Scholastic, not to me. No monies involved in the writing of this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Necessary Bond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitty_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_fic/gifts).



> How did I know when I asked someone why Drarry is such a popular pairing I'd be so intrigued and get totally hooked? 
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom and I am scared. *bites nails* I've read so many awesome fics in the Harry Potter fandom, all Drarry because I love them, and I can't believe I'm trying this, but...here goes.
> 
> Also, I am in no way a Ginny or Ron hater, but they aren't particularly understanding in this fic. No real bashing is intended, particularly of Ginny, who doesn't take losing Harry well. At all.
> 
> Thanks to both kitty_fic for holding my hand, and drarryisgreen for the beta! <3

~~~OOO~~~

“But…” Harry looked at Lucius Malfoy, then at Narcissa, and back at Lucius again where they stood in Harry’s living room at number 12 Grimmauld Place, “this is absolutely ridiculous! No, scratch that—it’s insane!”

Lucius’s countenance resembled a pot at full-boil. At his side, Narcissa remained outwardly calm but cast a wary glance her husband’s way.

“You dare to insult me in this manner?” Lucius seethed, a piece of pale blond hair flying into his mouth and sticking there as he whipped his head back in incredulous rage.

“There’s no need…” Harry tried, but Narcissa interrupted, placing a calming hand on her husband’s arm.

“There is every need, Mr Potter. You saved our lives with your testimony in front of the Wizengamot. We told you then that we would repay the life debt. If we hadn’t been wrapped up in legalities and busy fulfilling the charitable obligations of our sentencing, we’d have been here before this.”

“I told you then that it was unnecessary!” Harry objected.

“And we told _you_ that it was very necessary!” Lucius pointed a long finger at Harry.

“Malfoys always repay their debts, Potter, particularly life debts! So, unless you desire blood, this is the only way to properly repay what you’ve done for us. Three lives we owe you for, Potter.”

“Of course I don’t want blood, but neither do I want…” Harry stopped, running out of appropriate words. There were no words, as far as he was concerned, for the fact that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were giving Harry their only child in repayment for his saving their family from the Dementor’s Kiss.

“Draco isn’t good enough for you?” Narcissa asked, aristocratic nose climbing steadily into the air.

“I didn’t say that!”

“You’re implying that he isn’t,” Narcissa sniffed. “I’ll have you know, that in spite of our position in the war, the Malfoy name remains one of the oldest and most distinguished in the wizarding community. You will not find a better name to link to yours, I assure you. In fact, I’m sure you’ll find that Malfoy does more for you than Weasley ever could.”

“Leave Ginny out of this,” Harry said flatly.

“It doesn’t have to be a marriage bond,” Lucius silenced his wife with a look. “You can still marry that girl, if that’s what you want. You can bind Draco to you as your slave.”

Harry’s face must have reflected the horror he felt at those words, because Lucius impatiently stomped his foot.

“Dammit, Potter! Why must you make this so difficult?” He stood breathing heavily for a moment, eyes moving to meet those of his wife before his face hardened.

“If you will not accept Draco into your life, then you will accept his death. One way or another, I will pay this debt to you.”

Narcissa visibly blanched but remained silent.

Thrown, Harry stood rigid.

“His death? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lucius struggled to get the words past his lips, “that if you will not accept our son as husband or slave, you will accept his magical core as recompense for what you’ve done for us.”

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, unable to digest the pure callousness of the man in front of him.

Suddenly tired, he waved them away. “Give me until tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll contact you then.”

With a lethal glare, Lucius nodded and motioned for his wife to go ahead of him to toss Floo powder into the fireplace.

The smoke had barely cleared when Harry sank onto his sofa, arm over his eyes. Had the world gone crazy?

Harry’s world certainly had. Only a month before, he would have called himself content; his relationship with Ginny stable, even if it wasn’t everything he’d thought it would be. Then came the news that the reason her monthly cycles were off wasn’t because she was pregnant with Harry’s child, as she had hoped (there had been no time for Harry to examine his own feelings on the matter), but was because her fall from her broom during the battle at Hogwarts had damaged her internally. She could not bear children at all.

After that, it seemed that Ginny required more reassurance of Harry’s love than he was able to give, even though he did love her, it was just how much and in what way that confused him.

Harry and Ginny’s blossoming relationship hadn’t taken root until after the war, and then Harry was busy testifying before the Wizengamot and attending funerals, while Ginny waited patiently in the background. Their first time in bed together had been a disaster, with Ginny eagerly stripping off her clothes and Harry feeling very pressured to perform—so much so that he’d had difficulty sustaining an erection. It was a testament to their friendship that they made it through that and were able to form a relationship at all.

It irked Harry that Ginny obviously had experience in bed. Sex had always seemed to Harry to be something momentous between two people, and he’d saved himself for that important person. He’d thought Ginny was that person. That Ginny hadn’t been a virgin came as a bit of a slap in the face to him.

Still, they were companionable, and Harry wasn’t unhappy. The only time they fought was when Ginny brought up living together—-Harry couldn’t quite make that commitment.

And now what was he going to do? After the Malfoy’s trial, Harry hadn’t given a thought to Lucius Malfoy’s words of fulfilling a debt; yet here they were back in his life again, trying to say that Harry had to take Draco as repayment…it was absurd!

Sliding off the sofa, Harry knelt in front of the fireplace and fire-called Hermione. Her face appeared, shining green in the flames, features a bit distracted.

“Harry, hello,” she greeted hiim as she leaned forward. “I was just going over some work for tomorrow. Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your advice,” Harry began. “I’m in an awful mess.”

“How could things have gone pear-shaped since we spoke at lunch?” Hermione teased, raising a brow. “Nevermind. I’ll come right through. Let me just finish this last paragraph.”

A few minutes later, Hermione appeared in Harry’s parlour, brushing soot off her sleeves. She paused when she saw Harry agitatedly pacing the floor.

“What’s happened?” Her voice was full of worry.

“The Malfoys have happened,” Harry replied, and Hermione frowned.

“What? I can’t believe they’d bother you after what you did for them!”

Harry shook his head and relayed the conversation he’d just had with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.

“Circe’s ghost!” Hermione breathed, taking a seat on the old sofa, cringing a little at the uncomfortable horse hair. “Why didn’t you tell me this after the trial?”

“I didn’t think it was important!” Harry said.

“Not important? Harry, it’s a life debt! Wizards take them very seriously.”

“I know that!” Harry’s voice rose. “ _Now_!”

Hermione sighed. “What are you going to do?”

Harry turned to look at her. “That’s why you’re here! To tell me what to do! I can’t marry Malfoy, but I certainly don’t want him dead!”

She sighed heavily and took a seat on the sofa. “But you have to accept one or the other, Harry,” Hermione told him frankly. “The Malfoys are repaying a life debt…you saved them from the Dementor’s Kiss when they were tried after the war. They would have been the last to receive it before the Dementors were destroyed— You put your own honour on the line to keep them alive. And you didn’t stop there; you argued to save them from a life sentence in Azkaban as an alternative to the Kiss. They are deeply in debt to you, whether you want to believe it or not, and a pureblood wizard _will_ repay a life debt, one way or another. Especially a wizard as proud as Lucius Malfoy.”

Hermione’s habit of restating every nuance of a problem was one reason she was so good at helping to solve them; it put everything out there in plain sight. Unfortunately, this time it only served to show Harry what deep shite he was in.

“And you’ve heard of this… _sacrifice_ Lucius spoke of?” Harry asked her. “If I don’t take Draco as a husband or slave, he’ll sacrifice him to me—giving me Draco’s magical core and killing him in the process?”

Hermione nodded solemnly. “Yes. It’s a time-honoured act in the wizarding world. The Malfoys feel that giving you their son is the only way to pay such a heavy life debt. Taking Draco’s life one way or the other…Harry, you have to choose.”

“Well, I’m not going to have him killed! I couldn’t live with that, no matter how much of a git he is.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest

“Of course not. So that leaves the bond,” Hermione said quietly. “Which will it be? Marriage or slavery?”

Harry cast an annoyed look her way. “I can’t take someone as a slave.”

She nodded. “Obviously. Although you should consider…if you take Draco as a slave, you’re still free to marry whomever you want. I mean, what about Ginny?”

Harry walked over to the sofa and sat beside Hermione. “I’ve known for a while now that I don’t want to marry her.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “Even with this thing with the Malfoys, she’s still going to think it’s because she can’t give you children.” Hermione looked closely at Harry, cheeks turning pink. “It isn’t because of that, is it?”

Harry moved away. “No. Not entirely. But family is important to me, Hermione; I’m not going to lie.” He looked back at her. “And what about that? If I marry Malfoy, I’m giving up a family entirely.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Harry, you’re not.” At Harry’s look of shock, she continued, “Bonded wizards can get pregnant. If you want to have children with Malfoy, it’s a definite option.”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to think about that at the moment.

“I’ll have to talk to Ginny before I do this.” Harry stood. “Will you witness the bonding?”

“Of course,” Hermione nodded. “Just let me know when.”

OOO

“Harry! I thought we were having dinner tomorrow,” Ginny opened the door for Harry to come in before leaning in and kissing him.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry told her, slipping paSt “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course.” Ginny smoothed her hands over her long, straight red hair. “I’ll make us some tea…” She turned toward the kitchen of her small flat.

“No, that’s okay,” Harry stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Let’s just sit down.” He led her to the sofa, and they sat close together. Ginny was a bit like her mother in that her home was full of clutter—books stacked a foot high by the sofa, coats and umbrellas hanging half-hazardly on the hall tree, and newspapers littering the side table. At first, Harry liked it; it felt homey. But lately the sheer messiness had begun to gnaw at him, making him feel agitated and uncomfortable.

“You seem nervous,” Ginny observed. She put her hand on his knee. “What is it, Harry?”  
Harry forced himself to meet Ginny’s steady gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ginny,” he replied honestly.

Ginny pulled her hand away. “Oh.”

“I—I’m breaking up with you.” Harry watched her face carefully.

Ginny’s expression was stoic. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s because of my injuries. Because of what Voldemort’s death eaters did to me?”

“Ginny, no, that’s not why…”

Ginny turned on him, fury in her eyes. “Don’t lie to me! I know how important having a family is to you! I knew as soon as they told me I couldn’t have children that you would leave me. I’m just surprised we lasted this long.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry objected. “I do love you, Ginny. I’ve told you that plenty of times, but...”

She stood up. “But I can’t give you want you want, so you’re throwing me away.”

Harry got to his feet, following her across the room. “No, it isn’t that. If we stayed together, we could always adopt.”

Her back stiffened.

“But Ginny, I just don’t think we’re right for each other. I’ve felt this way for a long time now.”

“That’s just an excuse!” Ginny whipped around, eyes flashing. “You want to carry on your Potter genes, and you’re just too cowardly to admit it!” Her mouth formed a thin line, and Harry suddenly had the passing thought that she wasn’t very attractive when angry.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, reminding himself why he was there.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Harry!” Ginny shook her head. “It crossed my mind, sure, but deep down I still thought you were too good a person to dump me because of something beyond my control!”

Harry tried to take her hand, but she wouldn’t let him. “I wouldn’t, Ginny. Not just because of that. I just haven’t been completely happy.”

“But why?” Ginny looked stricken. “We were good together! We _are_ good together!” Her face had changed, hardened, hawk-like.

“Is this because of the fact that I’d been with other men before you? Harry, you can’t be so old-fashioned that you’d hold that against me!”

“That’s not it, Ginny,” Harry told her, growing annoyed. “If it were, I would have ended it then.”  
She made a frustrated sound. “Nothing’s happening like it’s supposed to! Ron and Hermione should be together! You and I should be together!”

Harry shook his head. “Things change. Ron and Hermione realized they weren’t right for each other, and…I’m just not happy.” He paused. He had to tell her. “Listen, you’re going to hear about this, and I don’t want you to think it’s the reason why I broke up with you when it’s really only speeding it along.” He took a deep breath. “The Malfoys owe me a life debt for what I did for them at the trials. I’m going to marry Draco Malfoy.”

“What?” Ginny’s mouth dropped open. “No!” She shook her head. “You can’t do that, Harry!”

“I have to,” Harry said.

“There must be another way.”

“There isn’t.” Harry sighed, unwilling to argue anymore. “Listen, I have to go.”

Ginny rushed to the door after him. “This is why, isn’t it? You’re breaking us up because you feel like you have to take this life debt! I should have known you wouldn’t just throw everything away for no reason.”

“No!” Harry insisted. “It’s all just happening at once.”

Harry could tell she didn’t believe him. He placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them. They were thin, like the rest of her. She’d always felt boyish in his arms, and sometimes he’d wondered if maybe...But he pushed the thought away.

“It’s true,” he said as emphatically as he could.

“I hate Draco Malfoy,” Ginny spit vehemently. “It’s his fault I can’t have children! Why you ever spoke for those evil people, I’ll never understand. They killed my brother—-they injured me!” Tears ran down her face, turning her pale skin blotchy. “Why do you always feel you have to save everybody?”

“Draco Malfoy didn’t push you from that broom, Ginny,” Harry says quietly. “And he didn’t kill Fred.”

“But he’s one of them! He’s a Death Eater!”

“Malfoy did what he felt he had to do, just like the rest of us at Hogwarts did. Besides, he didn’t even fight in that final battle. The war has been over for a while now and people are putting their lives back together. Malfoy was no more than a child following his father’s orders.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying these things,” Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re going to marry him! Just because Lucius Malfoy wants to repay you! Surely there’s something else…a life debt can be filled in other ways.”

“I’m not going to put him into slavery or take his life, Ginny, so you’re just going to have to accept this.” Harry softened his tone. “Take care of yourself. Goodbye.”

The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed through the corridor.

OOO

“I’m here to talk to Malfoy,” Harry told Lucius Malfoy. “Draco,” he amended. Lucius’s eyes were hooded as he widened the Manor door to allow Harry entrance.

“He’s in the library.”

Harry started forward, but Lucius suddenly stopped him.

“Potter.”

Harry turned around. He hated Lucius Malfoy—he always had—but the look on the man’s face gave him pause.

“I can imagine that my offer of Draco’s magical core was a very tempting one. It would free you from having to take on Draco’s care, and it would make you a very powerful wizard indeed. But…Potter, I-I implore you…” Lucius’ voice actually broke, and it took Harry a moment to realize what Lucius was trying to say.

“What kind of monster do you think I am?” he asked coldly. “You think I would willingly take another person’s life just so I could become more powerful?” He shook his head in disgust before swiftly turning and following a house-elf down the long hall, the surprised look on Lucius’s face lingering in Harry’s mind long after he’d left the man behind.

Harry was still fuming when the house-elf opened the doors to the library leaving Harry staring at Draco, whom Harry hadn’t seen since the trials nearly eighteen months earlier.

Malfoy looked taller than Harry remembered him, his shoulders broader. His hair had grown considerably, still pale and now tied back with a black strip of cloth. He didn’t remind Harry of Lucius, though; it was a completely different look on him.

Malfoy was all lean and elegant lines, casually resting against the window, one leg crossed over the other. He had none of the hardness that Lucius exuded, but rather reminded Harry of someone from out of the romance novels he’d seen stacked in Molly Weasley’s sitting room.

He was certain that comparison would make the former Slytherin fume with outrage.

When Harry fully entered the room, Malfoy looked over his shoulder, sterling eyes widening in surprise. His chin had lost its pointedness, jawline now squared off. Draco was incredibly handsome, Harry suddenly realized.

“Potter,” Malfoy greeted him, his expression wary.

“Malfoy.” Harry nodded his head.

Malfoy's jaw twitched and he shoved his hands into his pockets, but not before Harry saw how they trembled.

“I suppose you’re here to tell me you are accepting the payment for the life debt.”

“Do I have a choice?” Harry asked, exasperated.

“You could accept…” Draco licked his lips and swallowed. “You could accept the slave bond.”

“You want to be my slave?” Harry asked, surprised.

Malfoy's eyes flashed, “No, but I’d rather do that than _die_!”

“For fuck’s sake!” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “What is wrong with you and your father? I’m not going to take that option! I’m not a killer!” Remembering Voldemort and a few assorted others, he amended, “Not unless pressed to the wall under a wand, that is.”

“So you will be taking me as your bonded slave,” Malfoy said, looking slightly relieved, but not by much.

“No, I’ll be bonding with you in marriage,” Harry snapped.

“Marriage!” Malfoy's mouth fell open in shock. “You want to marry me?”

“This isn’t a fucking proposal, Malfoy! I have to accept the debt, and I don’t want to kill you. I also don’t want a _slave_! So that leaves marriage!”

“But…but I thought you and the Weasley girl…”

“I’ve already spoken to Ginny,” Harry replied, with a sigh.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Malfoy said softly.

“And I can’t believe you’d think I’d choose either of the other two options!” Harry all but yelled, struggling to control his temper. “We’ll find a way to live with this.”

“Do you even understand what a wizarding marriage bond is?” Malfoy asked.

Tired of Malfoy's patronising attitude, particularly when Harry was trying to save his life, _again_ , Harry made an abortive motion with his hand.

“We are doing this, Malfoy, and that’s final. In fact, get your father in here—we might as well do it now.” What was the point of waiting? Harry wanted to get it over with, and he didn’t really need Hermione there with him.

Malfoy, undoubtedly realising he’d better take Harry up on his offer while it was on the table, made haste in notifying his father. Lucius Malfoy soon appeared in the doorway with a large book.

“I hope you don’t expect me to act like a _wife_ to you Potter,” Malfoy sneered, no doubt rallying a bit now that his life was no longer in danger.

“I would think you’d be anything I want, considering you’re fulfilling a life debt,” Harry shot back. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer the slave bond.”

Malfoy blanched with fear and shut his mouth firmly. Lucius placed the book he carried on the table.

“And I never said anything about your being a _wife_. I do have Kreacher at Grimmauld Place, you know. He takes care of—”

“You want to live at _Grimmauld Place_?” Draco cried, horrified. “But it’s ghastly! I’m sure Father would give us a suite of rooms here.” He looked over at Lucius.

“I am not living in a house where my friends were tortured!” Harry’s blood pressure rose dangerously. He’d forgotten how Malfoy could get to him. And this man was about to become Harry’s mate!

“But Grimmauld Place …” Malfoy shook his head.

“You always were a spoiled brat, weren’t you, Malfoy?” Harry accused.

“And you were always a smug martyr,” Malfoy returned, crossing his arms over his chest  
Narcissa Malfoy and two house-elves arrived just as Harry clenched his fists and Lucius Malfoy had opened his mouth to intervene.

“Are we ready for the ceremony?” she asked pleasantly, and Harry and Malfoy glared at one another.

Harry found himself seriously rethinking marriage and leaning toward slavery, if Malfoy was going to be this difficult to get along with.

As though Lucius Malfoy read Harry’s mind, he took him aside. “Potter, a word, if you please?”

Once they were in the corner of the library, and Draco was busy whispering furiously with his mother at the other end of the room, Lucius looked at Harry evenly.

“The marriage bond will take care of things, Potter; don’t worry.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, surprised.

Lucius cleared his throat, looking discomfited. “I… _appreciate_ ,” he practically choked on the word, “that you have chosen the least of the three evils for my son, and, in turn, I have chosen the marriage bond accordingly.”

Narcissa Malfoy appeared at her husband’s elbow.

“We’re ready, my dear.” She raised a brow at Harry, who nodded.

After that, it was a blur of activity: kneeling before Malfoy, arms extended to one another; the incomprehensible, ancient magic that Lucius murmured over them, his wand trailing colourful tendrils over their wrists, marking them with burning lines that soon settled into white scars; the brief, odd feeling of communion that shook Harry to his core; the moment Malfoy's grey eyes met Harry’s and something jolted into place.

It was like a dream.

Later, after packing Malfoy’s things, they bid Malfoy's parents goodbye and took the Floo to Grimmauld Place.

“It’s as awful as I remember it,” Malfoy said when they both stood in the middle of the parlour, a look of disdain on his face that immediately annoyed Harry. “You kept that old horse hair sofa?” he asked, wrinkling his nose, but Harry could tell he was covering up something. From the moment they had arrived, a feeling of anxiety had begun to creep over Harry that he’d never felt before upon entering his house.

He glanced at Malfoy.

“You’re afraid,” Harry said before he’d thought about it. Malfoy looked at him, surprise quickly turning into a scowl.

“No, I’m not!” Malfoy argued, although his retort was unconvincing.

“Yes. You are,” Harry said, but he didn’t push it. He didn’t even understand why he’d said it in the first place, only that he knew it was true.

“You can have the first bedroom at the top of the stairs,” Harry told Malfoy, who looked immensely relieved. Harry supposed Malfoy had been worried that Harry would expect them to sleep together. Well, he needn’t have; Harry wasn’t gay—at least he didn’t think he was—and that wasn’t about to change just because of a bond. He’d told Malfoy they would learn to live with it, and he’d meant it.

Harry watched Malfoy carry his suitcases upstairs before turning to the kitchen. Since he hadn’t planned on having the marriage bond performed that day, he hadn’t expected to bring Malfoy home. He called to Kreacher.

“Yes, Harry Potter, master?” the house-elf appeared, irritable as ever, and just as grudgingly willing to serve.

“Kreacher, please don’t call me master. Draco Malfoy will be living here with us from now on—we’ve bonded in marriage.” He waited a moment to let that sink in, but Kreacher remained unperturbed. “Do we have enough for dinner?”

Kreacher scowled. “Kreacher will check, ma—sir. If there be not sufficient food, Kreacher will be getting more, sir.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. That will be all.”

It had taken Harry a while to get used to having a house-elf, but Hermione had assured him that there was no way Harry could get rid of Kreacher—Grimmauld Place was his home. Upon shifting in, Harry had immediately freed the elf by giving him clothes, but Kreacher chose to remain where he was and serve Harry, albeit with a bad attitude.

Malfoy wouldn’t come out of his room for dinner.

Harry wasn’t about to beg the wanker to eat, so he let him be. Harry and Kreacher ate by themselves, the cranky house-elf sitting atop several books and casting curious glances at Harry between bites but not asking any questions.

“I suppose you’re wondering why Malfoy and I bonded,” Harry finally said.

“It is not Kreacher’s business to wonder.”

“It’s in payment for a life debt,” Harry told him.

Kreacher couldn’t hide his surprise. “That…that is good of master…of Harry Potter to do.”

“Well, you know I don’t keep slaves, Kreacher.”

Kreacher nodded.

“And I wasn’t going to have Lucius kill his son for me. So…marriage it was.” Harry sighed, wondering when he’d sunk to having only a crotchety old elf to confide in. Perhaps he should firecall Hermione and tell her the deed was done. Glancing toward the silent upstairs, he decided he might as well go visit her and get away for a while.

When Harry stepped out of Hermione’s fireplace, the flat seemed empty, which was strange at that late hour. He stepped around a pile of folded laundry that Crookshanks had claimed as a bed. As seemed to be the case with most intellectual people obsessed with research, Hermione wasn’t big on housework.

“Hermione?” Harry called, starting down the hall. Her bedroom door was ajar, and he rapped on it with his knuckles. “Hermione? It’s Harry.”

“Oh, Merlin, Harry—-don’t come in!” Hermione’s surprised voice stopped him from moving forward. There was a scuffling noise, followed by a grunt, and the next thing Harry knew, Hermione opened the door and he was faced with the sheepish faces of his two closest friends.

“Ron?” Harry’s mouth fell open. “When did you get back in town?”

Ron stood slightly behind Hermione, fiddling with his flies, chest bare.

“And since when did the two of you start shagging?”

“Well, we used to date, you know,” Ron said, grabbing his shirt off the chair.

Hermione clutched her robe together. “Ron returned from Romania this afternoon and came by to see me.”

Harry turned toward the living room, his friends following.

“Well, welcome home, Ron. Sorry to disturb you guys.” Ron and Hermione hadn’t been a couple in at least a year, and seeing them together was odd, but not the oddest thing Harry had to deal with at the moment. “I just wanted to bring you up to speed, ‘mione. I went ahead with the bonding today.”

“What? But, why?”

Harry shrugged. “There didn’t seem a reason to wait. I talked to Ginny, and then went to see Malfoy.”

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” Ron looked from Hermione to Harry.

“You didn’t tell him?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Well...we didn't really get that far,” Hermione said, taking a seat on the sofa and carefully covering her legs with her robe.

“Oh, right.” Harry sat beside her and gave Ron the details.

Ron whistled. “I’ll bet my sister wasn’t happy.”

“I’m sorry, Ron. But things weren’t working out between us anyway. She doesn’t believe that, though.”

“I could kind of tell before I left that things weren’t so good between you,” Ron said.

“Really?” Harry shifted on the sofa, out of sorts more than he thought he’d be speaking to Ron about his sister.

Ron nodded. “I know you, and you just weren’t happy. But I don’t trust Malfoy. I can’t believe you married him, Harry. You should have done the slave thing.”

“You know I couldn’t do that, Ron.”

The fireplace blazed, and Kreacher’s face appeared in the flames.

“Harry Potter, sir, Kreacher is sorry to be bothering you, but…Mr Malfoy is needing you.”

“He’s _needing_ me?” Harry asked, back of his neck tingling as he knelt before the fireplace. “What do you mean?”

“Mr Malfoy be in pain, sir. He be needing you to return, due to the marriage bond.”

Harry frowned. “Did he tell you this?”

“No, sir,” Kreacher replied. “But Kreacher be knowing what a marriage bond does and thought perhaps Harry Potter would want to know.”

Harry turned to look at Hermione. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

“Some bonds cause pain when those bonded are separated,” Hermione offered.

“But I’m not feeling any pain,” Harry said, although he did feel inexplicably fidgety.

Hermione shrugged. “There are different sorts of bonds.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry told him, and the house-elf disappeared with a scowl.

“What exactly do you know about this bond, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Not much. Just that Lucius Malfoy told me he appreciated the choice I’d made for his son and he chose the bond accordingly, whatever that means.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, you’d better get home. It sounds as though Draco is suffering.”

“It wouldn’t hurt him to suffer a while,” Ron stated, and Hermione shook her head disapprovingly.

With a sigh, Harry flung Floo powder into the fireplace, saying clearly, “Grimmauld Place,” before stepping inside.

OOO

Draco tightened his hold around himself, staring at the crab apple tree outside the window of his room at Grimmauld Place. He missed Malfoy Manor, and right now, he was ashamed to admit, he wanted his mother. Everything in his body hurt, and he wasn’t sure why. To top it off, he hated Grimmauld Place. It was a house of bad memories, and he couldn’t believe he was going to be forced to live there.

Draco sighed, rubbing his arms briskly with his hands, nerves burning as though on fire. Perhaps months of worry and trepidation, knowing what his father had in store for him, were finally catching up with him. From the moment his father uttered the words to Potter after the trials, Draco knew the life debt would be repaid with Draco’s life. The fact that Potter had not chosen to kill Draco and take his magic was only slightly shocking—after all, Potter was a Gryffindor.

However, the fact that Potter chose a marriage bond over a slavery bond still had Draco reeling—he was now married to Harry Potter. They were spouses, husbands. It was going to take some getting used to. He still wondered if Potter even had a clue what a marriage bond entailed. No matter which kind Draco’s father had chosen, they would be bound together for eternity. Draco suspected Potter had done what he always did—rushed into it without much forethought or research.

Draco had to admit Harry Potter wasn’t his first choice for a spouse; they hadn’t exactly been friends at Hogwarts, and the fact that Draco owed Potter his life put them on very uneven footing. Draco would much prefer to be bound to someone who didn’t make him feel vulnerable. Added to that was the fact that Potter was obviously a heterosexual, or at least leaned that way. It would have been nice to have a husband who might want to have sex with Draco, eventually. And here it seemed illness was to be added to the mix, forcing Draco to turn to Potter for help with that, too.

Foregoing dinner because Draco couldn’t bring himself to share the table with Potter yet, he’d taken a nap on the large bed in the guest room he was granted. He’d awakened to the sensation of his body aflame, every muscle, orifice, artery, and organ burning as though set alight. And it just kept getting worse, although frankly he wouldn’t have thought that possible.

For the past half hour, Draco couldn’t hold back the moans of agony, the pain finally driving him to go in search of Potter.

Draco hadn’t found him, though. The prick had left without a word—on the night of their marriage bond. Draco made a disgusted face that reflected back at him in the window pane. Not that he’d expected a _wedding night_ or anything of the sort, but to just disappear without a word—that was just bad manners.

Kreacher had given Draco a pain draft, but it hadn’t helped, and now Draco could only hold himself ramrod straight, digging his fingers into his arm, trying to distract himself by looking out into the dark Muggle street. He’d taken to softly banging his head on the wall, the sharp pain distracting him from the fiery fury running through his veins, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Draco?”

Draco slowly turned around, because to do so any faster would have been pure torture. “Potter,” he said, the word coming out weaker than he’d have liked.

Potter walked toward where Draco stood, looking at Draco with that boyish, open expression of his.

“Kreacher said you’re ill.”

Draco wanted to berate Potter for disappearing, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and said, “I think I need to go to St Mungo’s.”

“Is it that bad?” Potter asked, and Draco let out an exasperated breath. He could hardly fucking stand, _of course it is that bad!_

But then Potter put his hand on Draco’s arm, and the oddest thing happened, the pain began to subside and was replaced by a feeling of comfort so strong, it caused Draco to sway forward so that Potter had to catch him in his arms. Draco was mortified, but more than that, he was blessedly relieved.

“Whoa, there. Don’t worry; we’ll go right away.” Potter slipped an arm around Draco’s waist, and Draco moaned with relief at the absence of pain.

“Wait,” Draco said, clutching at Potter's back.

“What?” Potter stood very still, allowing Draco to hold onto him. “Draco?”

Draco took a fortifying breath. “It’s…it’s better. As soon as you touched me, it got better.”

“What? But… that doesn’t make any sense!” Potter's hands came up to cup Draco’s elbows. Realising Potter was about to push him away, Draco hung on tighter, unable to face the pain again as yet.

“Potter…” It was embarrassing how Draco clung to him, but he couldn’t help it.

“It be making perfect sense, sir,” Kreacher said from behind them.

Potter turned, taking Draco with him. “What do you mean?”

“It be the bond, sir. It what be making Mr Malfoy burn when Mr Potter is not present and touching him.” The irritable house-elf stood in the doorway uncertainly. “I knows it to be so when the pain draft not be helping. Mr Malfoy be suffering from the bond.”

Draco felt Potter tense, his voice coming close to Draco’s ear. “But…why? What about me? I haven’t been in pain.”

Kreacher shrugged. “There be many types of bonds, Harry Potter, sir.” He turned to go. “If you not be needing Kreacher any longer tonight, Kreacher be going to bed now.”

“That’s fine. Goodnight, Kreacher.” Potter nudged Draco loose so he could look him in the face.

“Can this be true?”

With every inch that came between them, Draco felt the searing pain return. He tried to bear it—Merlin knew he didn’t want to hang around Harry Potter’s neck any more than Potter wanted him to hang there—-but the torment quickly got so bad that Draco grabbed Potter by the hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Please…I can’t stand it,” he managed to say, taking in Potter's shocked face at his plea; and the man had a right to be shocked—the Draco Malfoy he knew would rather die than plead with him this way. Shame and pride warred with self-preservation, and the latter won out; Draco didn’t let go.

“All right,” Draco felt Potter's arms gingerly come around him, and so great was the respite, Draco couldn’t be arsed to feel embarrassed about it any longer.

Potter sighed in Draco’s ear, body taut. “It’s late. I guess we’ll have to sort this out tomorrow. Um...” Potter looked about the room. “Just come sleep in my bed tonight—that way you can, er, touch me while we sleep.”

Draco followed Potter into the bedroom, their hands linked—a singularly strange sensation, pain ebbing and flowing throughout Draco’s body like flames in a burst of wind. The three minutes it took for Draco to strip off his clothes were pure torment, as he had to let go of Potter's hand in order to do it. Potter may have been feeling trepidation and discomfort about crawling into bed with Draco, but the intensity of the pain Draco felt obliterated all embarrassment and unease in his case. As soon as Potter was down to his pants, Draco yanked Potter onto the bed and rolled on top of him, sighing with relief as soon as their skin made contact.

“You can’t imagine how this feels,” Draco groaned. “I’m on fucking fire, and then you touch me and it’s like a balm.” He sighed again, wriggling to get more comfortable as the agony receded.

Potter lay like a board, heart thumping hard against Draco’s chest. “Potter, I promise I’m not going to turn you into a poof,” Draco huffed. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Potter jerked back, dislodging Draco. “I’m not afraid of you! What the hell made you think that? I’m trying to help you, you arse!”

The terrible burn started up again, and a whine escaped Draco’s lips as he scooted forward, reaching for Potter.

“Okay, okay, you’re right! Anything you say, only don’t stop touching me.” He wrapped his arms around Potter and pulled him close.

“This is so weird,” Potter said into Draco’s shoulder, body still tense.

“I assume you mean being in bed with a man?” Draco asked, throwing a leg over Potter’s hip.  
Potter grunted. “No, I mean being in bed with _you_!”

Draco couldn’t help laughing at that.

“Yeah, it is. But it helps—thanks.”

“Do I have a choice?” Potter asked on a sigh. He paused. “Did you just thank me?”

Draco scooted closer. “Kreacher’s right—some bonds can do this, although why my father chose to torment me, I have no idea. Then again, he always was a sadistic bastard.”

Potter grunted. “Agreed.”

Potter gingerly rested his hand on Draco’s hip, relaxing just a little. “I think maybe I know why he did it.”

Draco moved his head back, careful to keep his body aligned and touching Potter’s.

“Why?”

“I think perhaps our bickering made him decide to choose a bond that will force us together as quickly as possible.” Potter’s green eyes were thoughtful as he looked down at Draco’s face. “Forced proximity. It will probably wear off.”

“I fucking hope so,” Draco replied, pressing his cheek to Potter's chest Now that the pain had subsided, the beginnings of shy embarrassment started to creep in again. After all, he and Potter had done nothing but bicker since the day they met, and lying in his arms felt more than strange.

“Just—just try to go to sleep,” Harry said. “We’ll deal with it all tomorrow.”

Draco couldn’t help but think that Potter had a vast amount of patience to be taking all of this so well. A forced marriage bond just when he surely had been thinking of marrying the Weasley girl—and now having to sleep in the same bed with a man when he preferred birds.

Then again, they were bonded; Potter had to be feeling the effects of it somewhat.

With a sigh, Draco closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, trying not to think about how firm Harry’s chest was beneath Draco’s cheek.

The following morning, it was as though the pain had never happened. Potter was gone from the bed, and Draco took his time showering and getting dressed. When he walked into the kitchen, he was surprised to find Potter out on the deck feeding the birds.

“The Boy Who Lived turning into Snow White?” Draco asked, standing in the doorway.

“Snow Who?” Potter frowned.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a Muggle fairy tale. Yes, I know. How weird is it that I should be telling you about something Muggle?” He shrugged. “I had an aunt who used to read them to me when I was very small.” He suppressed a shudder at the memory. “Although she preferred the original, Grimm version. Anyway, Snow White was this princess who often communed with animals.”

Potter snorted. “I’m hardly a princess.” His look told Draco that it was difficult for Potter to imagine Draco as a loveable toddler, which frankly stung. Potter had always been capable of hurting Draco with a caustic look that spoke volumes about how little Potter thought of him, and that fact drove Draco crazy. He’d developed a tougher skin during the war and didn’t care too much what most people thought of him; but Potter was and always had been the exception to most of Draco’s rules.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Potter asked, sliding past Draco and entering the kitchen. Draco felt an inner pull toward Potter as he passed, as though his body missed touching him even though the pain was gone. It made him answer more sharply than he intended.

“I’m fine.” Draco turned to hide his face and all it might reveal. “Is this coffee?” He crossed to the counter.

“Yeah, you like it? I have tea if you prefer.”

“This is fine.” Draco took a cup down from the shelf and poured it full of the dark, aromatic liquid.

“I have to go into the book shop. Just…uh, make yourself at home,” Potter said.

Book shop? Ah, yes, Potter owned a little shop of magical books in Diagon Alley that, from what Draco heard, gave Flourish and Blotts a run for their money. Draco had forgotten that. He didn’t look at Harry, but continued contemplating his cup of coffee.

“I’ll manage, thanks,” he replied coolly.

“Kreacher made some breakfast. There’s a warming charm on it.” Potter left without another word, and Draco probed around for the food.

A few hours later, after Draco had explored the house and fully unpacked his things, he was bored. He couldn’t just sit about all day while Potter was away, so he decided to make a trip to the Manor to retrieve some of his potions to work on. He’d noticed a small room in the basement that would do quite nicely for brewing purposes.

Draco Disapparated, looking about where he landed, expecting to see the front of the mansion and the surrounding property. Instead, he found himself in Diagon Alley standing in front of _Magical Bindings_ , Potter’s shop.

“What the…” Draco frowned. Deliberately thinking of Malfoy Manor, Draco tried again, only to land this time inside the shop, directly in front of Potter, who looked up at him, surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wish I knew,” Draco replied, looking around. “I was trying to Apparate to the manor to get my potions.”

“The bond wouldn’t let you,” a female voice said from behind him, and Draco turned to find Hermione Granger standing there, several books in her arms. “It’s trying to keep you close to Harry.”

Draco and Potter exchanged a look.

“She’s probably right,” Potter said neutrally. “She usually is.”

“Hello, Granger,” Draco said cordially, and she nodded in greeting. She really had grown up to be an attractive witch. Draco had been frankly surprised when she’d ended up dating Weasley rather than Potter, whom Draco thought much more handsome. He shoved that thought away. Being in the same room with Potter again made his body yearn for him as it had that morning, and that was _not on_.

Granger smiled. “I’ve been reading up on bonds. They are fascinating, really.”

Trust Granger to find bonds fascinating. He and Potter shared another look.

“There are so many,” Granger continued, oblivious, “there’s no telling which your father used, Malfoy. You’ll have to ask him. But many marriage bonds include a period when the bonded are forced to remain close in order to build familiarity. Those bonds are usually used in arranged marriages and such, when the couple don’t know one another well.”

“I’m sure my father thought it infinitely amusing to force us to spend our wedding night in bed together,” Draco said wryly, and Hermione blushed.

“Just sleeping,” Potter clarified. “Do you suppose he can’t go anywhere I’m not?”

“For the time being, I’d guess he can’t,” Granger answered. “You’ll have to go with him to get his potions.”

“Never mind,” Draco scoffed, annoyed. He felt like a child, for Merlin’s sake, having to be escorted everywhere. “I’ll get Father to send them over.”

Without another word, he Apparated back to Potter's house.

God, he hated that place. His great-aunt Walburga Black often had him there during the first five years of his life, and they were the visits of nightmares for Draco. Thankfully, she died by his sixth birthday, and his cousin Sirius took over the house, although he never lived in it as far as Draco knew.

Draco was thankful that Potter had his great aunt’s portrait covered—he would hate to have to face her again.

Bending by the fireplace, Draco set about making a firecall to his parents.

“Tetchy,” he addressed the house-elf who appeared in the flames, “is my father at home?”

“No, Master Malfoy, sir. Your parents is being on holiday in the South of France.”

“What? They didn’t tell me they were going away! How long will they be gone?”

“I don’t knows, sir…Tetchy is sorry.” The elf immediately began hitting himself on the head with a poker from the fireplace.

“No, that’s fine, Tetchy, stop that!” Draco sighed. “I may come by later with Mr Potter to collect my potions.”

“Very good, Master Malfoy, sir.”

Draco ended the fire call and went to sit on the sofa, the coarse horse hair prickling the backs of his legs.

So his parents ran off directly after giving him over to Potter—how nice of them. And dear Father made sure the binding spell was as uncomfortable for his son as possible. Resentment and hurt warred inside of Draco, as he sat seething for a long time until he finally fell asleep.  
He awoke to a dim room and the familiar feeling of fire creeping through his veins.

  
OOO

“So you slept together last night,” Hermione mused, casually leaning against the counter and giving Harry a knowing look.

“Are you going to buy those books?” Harry reached out for the three that Hermione held in her hands.

“Oh, don’t be so prissy, Harry. Just tell me what happened.”

“I already did!”

“You didn’t tell me you slept together!”

“Well, how else was I going to keep touching him so he wouldn’t be in pain?” Harry asked, exasperated.

Hermione sighed. “Okay. Well, it didn’t look as though Draco was very happy at having to stick close to you.”

“Do you blame him?” Harry asked. “He’s basically had his autonomy taken away from him.”

“I’m sure it won’t last long,” Hermione handed over the books so Harry could ring them up.

“So are you and Ron back together?” Harry asked, desperate to change the subject.

“God, no!” Hermione said. “In fact, he’s interested in Luna.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

Hermione shook her head. “We’re just friends, Harry.”

“With benefits, evidently.” Harry reminded her.

“Yeah, well, that probably shouldn’t have happened. We had a long talk after you left and agreed on that.”

“And he likes Luna?”

“He says Luna makes him feel special.” Hermione leaned both elbows on the counter. “If you think about it, it makes perfect sense. She gives him her undivided attention, and she isn’t always correcting him the way I am. She kind of…worships him. And Ron likes that. I guess all men like that.”

“I don’t,” Harry said emphatically, counting the money she handed him.

“Well, you’re the exception because you’ve been worshipped enough,” Hermione replied. “And Ron’s been in your shadow the entire time—not that that’s your fault, of course.” She shakes her head. “I’m just not the worshipful type, Harry, and Ron needs it.”

“I can see that,” Harry nodded. “What do you need, Hermione?” He asked, looking at his friend as he handed her the bag of books.

“I really don’t know yet,” Hermione replied, but Harry thought he saw something flicker behind her eyes. “Why don’t you and Draco come over for dinner this weekend? Maybe I’ll have Ron and Luna over too.”

Harry thought about this. He couldn’t manage to think of himself and Draco as a couple, even though that’s technically what they were. Still, what were they going to do at home together? Stare at one another?

“Sure, that sounds nice.”

Hermione grinned. “I’ll let you know the details later.”

The rest of the afternoon was busy, and when time came to close the shop, Harry spent an hour or more going over his books before leaving. Something about the thought of going home to Draco rankled Harry, so he stopped at his favourite pub and had a couple of pints even though he wasn’t really feeling it. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable or enjoy the conversation of others around him.

By the time he arrived home, it was well past dark.

When Kreacher took Harry’s coat, he gave Harry a disapproving look.

“What?” Harry asked. “I stopped for a few pints.”

“Mr Malfoy-Potter is…”

“Wait, what?” Harry stopped the elf mid-sentence. “Why are you calling him Malfoy-Potter?”

“You is married, isn’t you, Mr Potter?” Kreacher sniffed.

“Yes, but we hadn’t decided on joining our names…and you didn’t call him that yesterday.”

“The bond isn’t allowing me to be doing otherwise today,” Kreacher explained. “Every time Kreacher does, it gives Mr Malfoy-Potter pain.”

“You’re kidding,” Harry breathed. What kind of vile, torturous bond did Lucius Malfoy choose?

“Kreacher assures you he is not.” If possible, Kreacher’s dour face became more dour. “And what Kreacher be trying to explain to Mr Potter is that it being dark, Mr Malfoy-Potter be in a great deal of agony from the bond.”

Harry was immediately hit with a wave of guilt. He hadn’t considered that it might happen again tonight.

“Where is Mr…where is Draco?”

“He be in the study, sir.”

“Bring my dinner in there, will you? Has M-Draco eaten?”

“He would not,” Kreacher said with a bow before disappearing with a crack.

Muttering under his breath, Harry hurried to the study. The door was partially open, and when Harry pushed it wide, he was alarmed at how pale Draco looked curled up on the sofa by the fire.

“Hey,” he said, moving forward.

Draco moaned, tucking his face into the velvet pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly. “I didn’t think this would happen again. Here, let me— hold you.”

The words sounded ridiculous when talking to his former enemy, yet Harry had held him last night and it hadn’t felt so odd. Sitting down, he pulled Draco into his arms.

“Malfoy, you’re trembling,” Harry automatically fell into old habit in addressing Draco.

Malfoy doubled over. “Don’t…”

“What?” Harry asked, perplexed.

“I-I think the bond doesn’t want you to call me by my last name,” Malfoy said tightly.

“It hurts when I call you Malfoy?” Harry asked, and Malfoy doubled up again with a groan.

“Please, would you just…you don’t know how much that _hurts!_ ”

“Sorry, sorry. Okay…Draco. I’ll call you Draco, and you call me Harry. All right?”

Draco nodded.

“I suppose that’s only right anyway; we are married,” Harry mused, leaning back. Suddenly realising he was combing his fingers through the soft strands of Draco’s hair, Harry stilled his hand. “Kreacher’s bringing us dinner in here.”

“I can’t eat,” Draco’s breath felt warm on Harry’s neck.

“But you need to.”

There was a crack and Kreacher appeared with a tray of cold cuts and fruit.

“Put it there on the table,” Harry directed. When the elf had gone again, he said, “Try to eat a little, Ma-Draco.” It was amazing how different Draco was when he was like this—The way he curled into Harry, seeking his touch, brought out all kinds of odd feelings in Harry that he wasn’t sure what to do with. Harry felt responsible for Draco, and curiously protective.

Harry finally coaxed Draco into taking a few bites of food before Draco moaned and turned away, leaving Harry to finish the rest.

“Hermione really thought it was a wedding night thing,” he said after a few moments of silence where he held Malfoy’s unresisting body close to his. “Look, I’m sorry about this…I didn’t know your father was going to pick a bond that would make things so difficult for you. Did you speak to him today?”

It took a moment for Malfoy to reply. “He and Mother have gone on holiday.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. Lucius Malfoy had left, taking the information they needed with him.

“Okay, well, tomorrow before I go in to work, the two of us will go to the Manor and get your potions, all right?” Harry said calmly, although he felt anything but calm at the moment. Having Malfoy—Draco—pressed against him kept his heart rate doubled, and being unable to put some distance between them so Harry could _think_ without being distracted made him feel helpless.

Draco nodded against Harry’s shoulder.

That night was similar to the night before, with the two hurrying to get into bed so Draco would not be in pain; only the pain seemed to be more intense than it had been the night previous, and Draco had to hold onto Harry’s arm while he stripped his clothes off so as to keep some of the agony at bay.

Each time one failed to address the other by his first name, the pain that Draco suffered for it was subsequently worse; so both men quickly learned to get it right. Since Draco seemed to require more skin-on-skin contact than he had the night before in order to feel relief, Harry decided it would be better for them to both sleep shirtless.

It seemed to help, and by morning Draco reported all pain had vanished as though it had never been.

Draco seemed tetchy and a little pale, but when Harry mentioned it, Draco just huffed and asked what he expected after a night of waking up every time Harry rolled away from him.

“I didn’t mean to roll away,” Harry defended.

“I know,” Draco sighed. “Are we still going to get my potions from the Manor?”

“Of course.”

It took them all morning to go through what Draco wanted to take and shrink it all down to travelling size. Draco spent some time looking for the huge book his father had used to perform the bonding ceremony, but to no avail. When they returned to Harry’s house, Draco told him about the room in the basement he thought he’d use to brew his potions.

“That’s fine with me,” Harry agreed. He didn’t use half the rooms the old house contained. “Now, I’d better be getting to the shop.”

It was a slow day in Diagon Alley, and Harry spent it cleaning up and shelving new books. Hermione popped in around three to see how the previous night had gone. After Harry described it to her, she frowned in thought.

“It’s not so surprising that Draco was in pain again and required your touch—that will probably go on for a honeymoon period. A week or two, tops. But I didn’t expect the thing with the names—-that’s something new added. I hate to think you’ll have something new every day. Are you experiencing any pain at all, Harry, or is it just Draco?”

“I haven’t been in pain, no,” Harry answered.

“Well, has anything been any different for you?”

Harry thought about it. “I think…sometimes it seems I can sort of feel Draco’s emotions. I’m still not sure about it. I just seem to sense things.” He shrugged. “I could be imagining it.”

“You’re probably not,” Hermione said. “The more time you spend together, the stronger the bond gets. That insures a successful relationship.”

Harry couldn't imagine that happening. The most he imagined was that he and Draco would have a cordial acquaintance, although upon introspection, he could see how being forced to share a bed had made things a bit more intimate for them. It was difficult to hold a person at arm's length, so to speak, when you spent every night pressed against him from head to toe.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked, intuitive as always.

“Nothing, really,” Harry lied and smiled at the next customer that entered the shop, effectively ending their conversation.

That evening, Harry went home immediately after closing. It wasn’t dark yet, and he didn’t want to risk Draco having to spend any time in mortal pain.

When he entered the house, a strange scent hung in the air. Harry thought it might be a mixture of pot roast and…calming draught.

“Draco?” he called, hanging up his coat next to the covered portrait of Walburga Black.

Draco appeared at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement.

“Is that calming draught I smell, or has Kreacher invented a new sauce for the pot roast?” Harry asked teasingly.

Draco looked impressed. “Good nose. It is calming draught. I wondered if it might help—you know, tonight.”

“Hermione seems to think this will only last for a ‘honeymoon’ period,” Harry told him, pushing his hands into his pockets. “She also wondered if we’ll experience something new today like we did yesterday with the names.”

“She also thought it would only last for the wedding night,” Draco pointed out wryly. “I haven’t noticed anything new today.” He put the small bottle he was holding on the table. “I’m tired, but that’s from interrupted sleep.”

“You’re pale,” Harry noted.

“I’m always pale,” Draco replied sharply.

“Well then, paler than usual,” Harry said stubbornly, and Draco glared at him.

Draco didn’t eat much dinner, and as darkness fell, Harry could see the lines of pain appearing on his face.

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms. “No need to suffer through it.”

“I’m going to try the draught first,” Draco said tightly, and got up to fetch the bottle.

“How do you feel?” Harry asked ten minutes later as they sat on the sofa. Harry had been pretending to read his book while surreptitiously watching Draco from behind it.

“Like I’m calmly in pain,” Draco answered through his teeth and gratefully moved into Harry’s embrace. “This is so fucking weird.” He wrapped his legs around Harry to get closer and sighed. “Merlin, would you take off your shirt?” He yanked his own over his head.

Harry obliged. That night they slept in their underwear. The fact that it was frigid out made being plastered together rather cozy, Harry thought. For the first time, he thought he could get used to holding Draco in his arms.

The following day, Draco not only looked pale, but he seemed disoriented.

“Draco, maybe I should take you to St Mungo’s.” Harry watched with concern as Draco tried to remember the simple spell to levitate his dish.

“What?”

“The hospital. You don’t seem well.” Draco had tossed and turned a lot in the night, but Harry intuitively knew this was more than loss of sleep.

Kreacher placed a plate of toast on the table.

“It be the bond,” he said. “Nothing St Mungo’s can be doing about it, Mr Potter.”

“What do you mean, Kreacher? Why do you think it’s the bond?”

“Some bonds be punishing if something’s lacking in the marriage. Just like Mr Malfoy-Potter has pain that be forcing him to touch Mr Potter and for Mr Potter to speak to him using his first name, it be making him sick for another reason.”

“What reason?” Harry asked, glancing at Draco, who had wilted in his chair and fallen asleep at the table.

“Kreacher not be knowing everything, Mr Potter,” the grumpy house-elf muttered before Disapparating with a loud crack.

Harry helped Draco to bed and tucked him in, then stood for long moments regarding him before fire calling his assistant in the shop and asking him to cover for him, and then contacting Hermione to tell her what was going on.

“He’s pale, tired, and restless,” Harry told her. “And he’s barely eating.”

“I suppose he could have a stomach virus of sorts,” Hermione offered.

“No,” Harry said. “I think Kreacher’s right; something else is making Draco sick, and it’s probably the bond. It wants something from us.”

“It wants you to properly bond,” Hermione told him. “Everything so far has had to do with the two of you accepting the bond and acting like a married couple: calling each other by your first names, Draco taking your last name, the two of you sleeping in the same bed. So what is it that married people do that the two of you aren’t doing?”

“Hell, Hermione,” Harry barked, “lots of things—because we don’t feel married. We’re two people that used to hate one another now forced into a bond.” Harry’s wrists tingled where the invisible magic bound him.

“So maybe it wants you to get to know one another better. Communicate,” Hermione suggested. “Try that. I have to go, Harry. Someone’s at the door.” She disappeared from the flames.

Harry sighed. He supposed it couldn’t hurt. He spent a little time tidying up the house—at least the rooms he used. He hadn’t done much with it since he moved in, but he was proud to own it. It was something that was all his—a real home—and that meant a lot.

Draco had certainly been vocal about not wanting to live there, and Harry wondered why that was. It had belonged to his great-aunt at one time; why wouldn’t Draco be comfortable there? Perhaps that was something Harry could start with in order to learn more about Draco.

Draco didn’t stir from the bed until past seven o’clock. Harry looked up from the book he’d been attempting to read when Draco walked listlessly into the parlour. It seemed Harry was becoming more and more in tune with Draco, and it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything when Draco was suffering. When Draco entered the room and sank into a chair, wincing a little, every nerve in Harry’s body went on alert. Draco didn’t look as though he’d benefited at all from the rest, and Harry suddenly just wanted to make it all better.

“Merlin, Harry, are these the same chairs that were here twenty years ago?” Draco asked peevishly. “They have lumps!”

“I suppose they are,” Harry answered, noting the dark shadows under Draco’s eyes. “I haven’t changed them.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s about time that you do? And you can’t possibly enjoy sitting on that horse hair sofa—it’s itchy as hell!”

Harry had to admit that it was. He put his book down, an idea coming to him.

“Would you like to redecorate the house, Draco?” he asked.

Draco looked taken aback.

“Me?”

Harry nodded. “I certainly have no gift for it, and I imagine that you do.” He wasn’t sure where this was coming from, except that it seemed a good idea, and it might make Draco happy. Harry could feel his own heart easing at Draco’s obvious interest.

“You’d really entrust me with that?” Draco asked, his usually guarded expression momentarily open.

“Sure.”

Draco appeared to be thinking for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I believe I would enjoy that.”

“Fine, then. I’ll give you access to my account at Gringotts.”

Draco looked as though he didn’t know what to say to that and sat for a long time staring into the fire.

Harry cleared his throat, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, determined to engage Draco in conversation about himself. “Did you used to spend a lot of time here when you were young?”

Draco’s eyes darted to Harry and then back to the fire. “Why do you ask that?”

Harry shrugged. “I just wondered. I know it was your great-aunt Walburga Black’s house.”

“She died when I was five,” Draco stated. “but yes, I spent some time here before that.”

“And you didn’t like it,” Harry prompted.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you didn’t want to live here,” Harry answered.

“It’s awful,” Draco wrinkled up his nose and Harry saw the suppressed shudder.

“I think it has character,” Harry said. “I like it because it’s the only home I’ve ever known that’s really mine.”

Draco looked at him curiously. “What about where you lived growing up?”

“My aunt and uncle didn’t want me,” Harry said. “They made it very clear that I wasn’t welcome in their home.”

Draco frowned but didn’t reply. He continued looking into the fire.

Outside the window, the sky began to darken, and Harry watched Draco’s face for signs of pain. He didn’t have to wait long.

It came on so fast, Draco doubled over with it.

Harry went to him, wrapping his arms around him. It was truly terrible seeing another human being in such agony, and it seemed incongruous that a marriage bond would do something like this. Harry couldn’t help feeling that it was his fault somehow.

“When will this end?” Draco whimpered, hands scrambling to get beneath Harry’s shirt. “It’s worse than it’s ever been.”

Harry drew in a breath at the feel of Draco’s fingers inching up his back.

“I’ve got to touch your skin,” Draco told him apologetically, pressing his face into Harry’s neck. “It’s the only thing that helps—now more than ever.”

Resigned, Harry pulled off Draco’s shirt and then unbuttoned his own, pressing their bare chests together. As Harry had noted before, Draco’s was almost hairless, nipples a pale pink, abdominal muscles toned and chest broad. Harry knelt in the open V of his legs where Draco sat on the chair and held him, feeling Draco’s sigh of relief.

Harry had to admit it felt good. Draco body was firm and his hair smelled wonderful, and those little noises he made when he burrowed close to Harry were very endearing.

“Lie down,” Draco instructed tightly after a moment. “On the rug.”

More than willing to help, Harry moved back and spread out flat in front of the fire. Draco immediately fell on top of him, pressing their bodies together.

“Merlin, can we just…can we just get naked?” Draco asked, obviously frustrated.

Harry stilled, unsure. He wanted to help Draco, of course he did, but rub up against him naked?

“Potter…oof!” Draco curled in on himself. “I mean, Harry! Oh, gods, please!”

“Okay, okay,” Harry sat up. “But let’s take this to the bedroom, yeah?” He clutched Draco and managed to Apparate them to the middle of his bed.

Harry began undoing his zipper, pushing his jeans and pants off before helping Draco to get rid of his own trousers and undershorts.

“Here, maybe…” Draco moved so that Harry could spoon him from behind, obviously trying to make Harry more comfortable with what they were doing by not pressing them together front to front. As soon as Harry’s body connected with Draco’s, Draco let out a long, heart-felt sigh of relief.

“Yesss…so good.”

Harry lay very still. Draco’s skin was warm and his arse perfectly shaped as it pushed right against Harry’s groin, and Harry could feel himself getting hard. He didn’t know what that meant—if it was just a normal bodily reaction to another naked person, or…

“Harry,” Draco said after a moment of settling down. “Are you sure you’re straight?”

Maybe that answered Harry’s question.

Harry’s cock was as hard as he’d ever seen it and pressed eagerly into the cleft of Draco’s pretty, pale arse. He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment and didn’t answer. He could feel Draco’s erection where Harry’s hands rested on Draco’s flat stomach.

“Listen, it’s okay,” Draco said after a moment, voice soft and so _unDraco_. “Lots of men like both.”

“Really?” Harry asked after a moment, eyes slowly opening to look at the back of Draco’s head. He suddenly very much wanted to taste the soft skin at the nape of Draco’s neck. He moved a little closer.

“Sure,” Draco said, breath catching when Harry’s nose touched him.

Without meaning to, Harry found his hips canting inward. In for a sickle, in for a Galleon, he began planting soft kisses on Draco’s shoulders and nape. The tremble that ran through Draco’s body made Harry pull him closer.

“Yes, so good,” Draco murmured, “feels so good, Harry.”

It wasn’t so odd after that to take Draco’s erect cock in his hand—it was soft and steely hard, not so different from Harry’s own. Harry stroked it, liking the sounds that came from Draco’s throat when he did. Draco pushed his body back into Harry’s, and Harry’s hard cock nestled itself between Draco’s cheeks as though of its own accord. Thrusting, Harry moaned into Draco’s neck.

Harry twisted his wrist, running his thumb over the head of Draco’s cock, and Draco cried out pushing back against Harry again, tightening his arse cheeks around Harry’s erection, bringing a moan from Harry’s lips.

They continued on this way, spiraling upward together, lost in sensation, until Harry gasped, pulling back and spurting his release all over Draco’s arse. As soon as he was able, Harry dipped his hand in it and used it to finish getting Draco off, watching the reaction on Draco’s face with wonderment as he did so.

They lay exhausted together, Harry’s head resting on Draco’s chest, and fell asleep without even the energy to spell the mess away.

Harry awoke sometime before morning. It was still dark, but Draco rested easy. They’d pushed the sheet down to the bottom of the bed, and Harry ran his eyes down Draco’s naked form, admiring the long, pale legs and handsome feet. He had to admit, Draco’s cock wasn’t bad to look at, either. It was long, thick, and uncut, and lay against Draco’s thigh, a nest of blond curls at its base. His nuts were large and Harry had the sudden urge to feel their weight against his tongue.

_Where the fuck is this coming from?_

Harry moved away from Draco onto his own pillow.

Draco didn’t waken, and Harry sighed with relief. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to remember what it had been like with Ginny.

She wasn’t a voluptuous girl—more boyish than anything, really. And what did _that_ say, that Harry had been attracted to her? He’d never been one to notice big-breasted or big-hipped girls. Ginny’s breasts were no more than small mounds that fit in the palms of his hands.

Their sex life had been good.

Pretty good.

Okay.

Harry frowned. He couldn’t remember being as satisfied after sex with Ginny as he’d been just rubbing off on Draco.

He glanced over at Draco again.

Draco’s hair, so whitish-fair, was unbound and trailed onto the pillow in long, soft tendrils that Harry suddenly wanted to run his fingers through. His facial features were masculine and fine, lips full, lashes gold-tipped. Although Draco’s eyes were closed, Harry knew them to be a beautiful grey-silver, and Harry wondered if they’d been that beautiful in school and how he could have been so blind not to have seen it. Or had he seen it, and only lied to himself about the reasons Malfoy captured his attention so fully right from the start?

And now they were married. Bound. Draco was _his_. It had been unwelcome at first, but now Harry had to wonder. Propping himself on an elbow, he stared down at his husband, so amazingly beautiful in sleep. Could they possibly make this into something real?

 

OOO

Draco woke to the odd sensation of being stared at, although when he opened his eyes, Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Draco.

He took a moment to admire the lean muscle of Harry’s back. Had the night before been a dream?

Draco remembered the feel of Harry’s thick cock sliding on his skin, and Harry’s firm fingers working over Draco’s erection—he started getting hard again and forced his mind elsewhere.

Harry stood abruptly, and walked across the room to the cupboard, He was admiring Harry's pert arse and when Harry turned, Draco looked away quickly.

“Good morning,” Harry said cordially. “How are you feeling?”

Draco took a moment to assess. “Good,” he said, relieved not to feel the lethargy of the day before. He stretched leisurely in the warm bed.

“Would you like to go out to breakfast?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged, sitting up. Realising that he didn’t even have a sheet covering him, he reached for it with a blush. “Sure, if you’d like.”

They cleaned up, dressed, and walked to a Muggle establishment nearby. The food was passable; Draco could tell Harry really liked it, so he didn’t comment on the grease or the lack of real butter. After they ate, Harry took Draco to Gringotts where he made arrangements for Draco to have access to his vault.

“I want you to be able to buy whatever you want and need for the house,” he told Draco. “I know you have money of your own for personal items, of course.”

Draco nodded. He needed to get in touch with his solicitor soon and get all that ironed out. He thought about what Harry had told him the night before.

“Is there anything in particular you want me to do?” he asked. “Do you want your study a certain way? Or the bedroom?”

“I trust your judgment,” Harry said, his words filling Draco with warmth. Draco decided then that he would do his best to please Harry with his choices. And frankly, he couldn’t wait to erase all vestiges of Auntie Walburga from the place.

“I probably can’t get started on this until we’re able to be apart,” Draco said ruefully as they walked home from the Leaky Cauldron.

“We’ll get some catalogues,” Harry replied. “Oh, and I forgot to mention—Hermione invited us to dinner Saturday night. Ron and Luna will be there.”

Draco made a face but didn’t say anything.

“What?” Harry asked. “Don’t tell me you have issues with eating at Hermione’s.”

“No, it’s fine,” Draco replied, probably unconvincingly.

“Well, it’d better be. She’s one of my best friends,” Harry stated.

“I’m aware of that, Potter,” Draco sneered, and then immediately doubled up as excruciating pain hit. When he felt Harry’s hand on his back, some of the pain eased.

“H-harry,” he amended, and was able to stand upright again. “Fuck!”

Harry stroked Draco’s back soothingly and then did something surprising. He _kissed_ Draco, right on the mouth.

Draco stiffened, surprised, but then quickly melted into it. Harry's lips were soft, his mouth pliable and warm. They stood on the pavement, Harry’s hands on Draco’s biceps holding him still, a brisk breeze running past them and pulling Draco’s hair from its leather thong, whipping it into their faces.

When Harry pulled back, Draco stared at him with shock.

“What was that for?” he asked.

Harry looked unsure. “Um. I thought if a touch was good, a kiss would be better?”

“Oh,” Draco whispered, and they continued walking.

Draco’s lips tingled, and he forced himself not to cover them with his fingers. When they arrived home, Harry had to go to work, but before he left, he ordered the catalogues from the shops Draco chose. Draco spent some time chatting with Kreacher, who really wasn’t all that bad for a house-elf. He made Draco laugh with some of his stories about Walburga and her eccentricities.

Sometimes Draco would catch the elf looking at him with something akin to pity on his ugly, gnarled face, and Draco got the feeling that Kreacher remembered the days when Draco used to visit and Auntie Walburga would lock small Draco in the cupboard and tell him his parents had been murdered by evil wizards. Lucius had not believed Draco when he’d told him that and had forbidden him to tell such fanciful stories to his mother about her aunt.

Draco didn’t want Kreacher’s pity, so he went off to the basement to work on potions.

Draco was thankful that Harry arrived home before dark. Kreacher prepared a light dinner, and Harry chatted about his day in the book shop. As dusk approached, Draco’s body began to anticipate the coming pain, coiling up in tension. He could feel Harry watching him, waiting.

This night was much like the night before—no increase in pain, but still intense. He and Harry lost no time stripping themselves of clothes and spooning on the bed. However, this time Draco wanted more than just Harry getting off on his back. His body wanted more.

“Harry—-I want you to fuck me,” he said, eyes pinned to the wall opposite, embarrassed and inflamed at once.

“What?” Harry’s voice cracked. Draco could feel the dark hair on Harry’s chest tickling the smooth skin of Draco’s back.

“Please…will you?”

When Harry still hesitated and Draco felt the fire begin to burn him in spite of their contact, he spat out, “For Merlin’s sake, Harry, I can feel your cock poking a hole in me—it’s not like you can’t do it! Pretend it’s a fucking cunt if you have to! Do you want me to put on a long, red wig?”

He heard Harry growl and then mutter a spell, and Draco gasped at the feel of his entrance being magically coated with something slick and rather cold. Harry positioned his cock and pushed into Draco with one swift, angry lunge, impossibly hard and incredibly large. Draco cried out and clutched the mattress, moving his leg up and back so that it draped over Harry’s hip as Harry began to viciously thrust, their surprised cries of pleasure mingling together in the otherwise quiet room.

“Oh, sweet Salazar!” Harry swore, pounding into Draco with abandon.

Draco reached up and grabbed the bedpost, hanging on for dear life. It hurt, but it also felt incredibly good, and Draco knew he’d asked for it. Harry was fucking him within an inch of his life, and Draco wasn’t petty enough to deny he loved it by stifling his moans of pleasure.

It went on and on, the bed shaking with the pounding Harry gave him. Draco heard himself grunting with every thrust, felt Harry’s hand come round to smooth over the expanse of his chest, thumb brushing a sensitive nipple. It all felt so deliciously brilliant—Draco was going to come untouched for the first time in his life…

“F—U—UCK!”

Harry shivered behind him, caught by Draco’s clenching inner muscles, and whimpered before filling Draco. Draco quivered, his monstrous orgasm still running through him.

“H-harry!” he sobbed.

Exhausted, they fell into another messy sleep, Harry’s cock still embedded inside Draco; his body draped over his.

The next day, Draco found he couldn’t sit without wincing.

“Sorry,” Harry said at breakfast

Draco ignored him, unsure of what to say, seeing as how he’d demanded that Harry fuck him like a senseless rag doll. He felt good, actually. Not lethargic at all. The catalogues sat on the counter, and Draco thought he’d spend the day looking through them.

“Harry,” he said, sipping his tea, “I’d like to send a letter to my solicitor. Where’s your owl?”

“I don’t have one,” Harry answered, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

Draco put his cup down, bewildered. “You don’t?”

“I haven’t replaced Hedwig. She died—was killed. She was a gift from Hagrid when I started at Hogwarts... I just haven’t been able to bring myself to replace her.” Through this explanation, Harry never looked up from his plate.

Draco thought about this. “My owl was confiscated by the Ministry. All of our owls were. We were supposed to get them back, but in all the red tape—we didn’t. I think something happened to them… they were given away or killed.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, glancing up, green eyes sad.

Draco looked down at his plate. “They weren’t really pets to us. Not like yours—-I’m sorry about Hedwig.”

Harry nodded, sighed, and got up to go to work.

Draco spent the day working on the parlour, keeping Kreacher busy answering the Floo to receive deliveries. The first thing Draco did was get rid of that awful horsehair sofa that prickled the backs of one’s legs if one didn’t sit on it just right. He replaced it with a dark burgundy leather sofa with two sections and a dividing table of dark wood. He found some reading lamps in dark burgundies and blues, which he thought would appeal to Harry, and purchased a luxurious rug to match. He replaced the old wooden mantel with a new one made of rich mahogany, and found a gorgeous rendition of the Potter crest to go over it. After brief thought, he Floo-called Tetchy to bring the framed Malfoy crest from the manor and he arranged it beside the Potter crest.

A gorgeous over-large chair and ottoman replaced the raggedy one from before, and a bookcase of dark wood housed Harry’s collection of favourite reads, of which there were quite a few. He had to order several volumes in order to create full sets—no need to be plebeian about it.

Exhausted, Draco lounged on the new sofa with a spot of brandy, admiring his work, when the Floo activated and Hermione appeared, asking to step through. When she stood in the parlour, taking in all Draco had done, her mouth fell open.

“This is…brilliant, Malfoy!” she breathed.

Draco winced. It wasn’t the all-enveloping pain he got when Harry called him by his last name, but it hurt just the same. “Draco. Please.”

“Oh, sorry,” Hermione cringed. “Draco. Really, the room is lovely. Did you do all this yourself?”

Draco couldn’t help but puff up a bit with pride and nodded. “I’ve spent all day on it. Do you think Harry will like it?” He couldn’t help asking, because he really wanted to please Harry— _it must be the bond_ , he told himself.

“I know he will!” Hermione’s smile widened. She continued looking around until her eyes fell on Draco’s surprise for Harry in the corner.

“I’m not sure how he’ll feel about that,” Draco said quickly, “but I’m hoping when he learns the story behind it, he’ll be pleased.”

Hermione nodded and turned to him, eyes soft.

“The reason I came by is to ask you a favour. I suppose Harry mentioned dinner at my flat tomorrow night?”

When Draco nodded, she continued, her cheeks pinking, “Well, I was wondering if…that is, could you, um…”

“Spit it out, Grang—oof!” He held his aching middle. “Hermione.” Would he never learn?

Hermione took a deep breath. “Could you possibly invite your friend Blaise to come?”

Draco stared at her. “You want Blaise Zabini to come to your dinner party?”

Hermione blushed even more deeply. “I’d ask him myself, but I hardly know him.”

“Then why do you want him to come?” Draco asked, confused.

Hermione groaned and sat on the leather sofa, taking up the glass of brandy Draco had abandoned and tossing it down in one gulp. “I fancy him, alright?” she sputtered, voice hoarse from the drink. “Now, will you ask him?”

“Sure,” Draco agreed, lips quirking.

“Shut up.” Hermione stood, nose in the air. “Tell him six o’clock. I’ll see you then.” She left in a huff.

Draco barely had time to get over that surprise when Harry arrived home.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry said, almost tripping over the new rug as he stepped out of the Floo. “It’s almost dark! How do you feel?”

“Hm?” Draco asked. “Oh, fine. Good, actually.” Absently, he reached out and combed down Harry’s crazy, errant hair with his fingers. Harry looked about the room.

“Merlin’s balls!”

Draco found himself suddenly nervous.

“I hope you like it…I can return any of it. I made sure of that.”

Harry turned around in a full circle.

“This is…this is…wow.”

Draco bit his lip. “But do you approve?”

“Approve? Draco, of course I approve! I can’t believe you did all this! I didn’t expect it.”

Draco’s stomach fluttered. “Is it too much?” _Why the hell was it so important for Draco to please Harry Potter?_

The way Harry’s face lit up as he noticed little details made Draco even happier than the Christmas he received his first broomstick. _Would this bond never stop tormenting him?_

Then Harry’s gaze fell in the corner and he walked towards it.

“What’s this?”

Draco’s stomach twisted. “We can send her back, but I thought…I got her at the Owls’ Recovery Outreach for owls that were hurt in the war and rehabilitated. She’s a Spectacled Owl, and she…well,” he chuckled faintly, blushing, “she reminded me a bit of you. Her name’s Lucy.”

Harry stared at the owl with the big yellow eyes sitting in the golden cage.

“Hello, Lucy,” he said.

Draco couldn’t stop talking, it seemed. He’d suddenly and inexplicably turned into his prattling Aunt Estelle. “I just thought we’d need an owl, since neither of us have one, and I thought the biggest part for you not getting a new one was actually going and picking one out—feeling like you were replacing your old one…” _Draco, shut up!_ Draco clamped his mouth shut and watched Harry as he put out a tentative hand and lightly stroked the owl’s head.

Lucy let out a series of short, rattling hoots and shook her feathers, tilting her head to the side to allow Harry to pet her more fully. A delighted smile spread over Harry’s face, and Draco finally felt himself relaxing.

“She’s gorgeous, Draco,” Harry whispered after a moment, and then, turning to meet Draco’s eyes, “You’re gorgeous.”

Draco’s chest tightened and he shifted nervously from one foot to another, stepping back when Harry would have moved toward him.

“I—I put your books in this bookcase,” Draco gestured to the wall, and Harry went to dutifully examine them. Next, Draco showed Harry the crest, saying he hoped it was all right that he hung his own beside it. Harry just smiled with approval, eyes pinned on Draco in a way that made Draco squirm. After Draco insisted on having Harry try out the sofa, Harry took Draco by the hand and led him to their bedroom— _when had it become their bedroom and not just Harry’s?_ —carefully removing Draco’s clothing piece by piece between kisses to Draco’s mouth, jaw, and throat as Draco trembled in his arms.

Naked, Draco gasped as Harry dropped to his knees, still fully-clothed, and took him into his mouth. So far gone was Draco in his pleasure that he barely noted that it had been dark outside for well over an hour without either of them having noticed.

OOO

 

Just as Draco imagined, being at Hermione’s was uncomfortable. Ron Weasley was belligerent from the get-go, casting suspicious glances Draco’s way and doing his best to start something until Hermione finally told him off.

“If you can’t act like an adult, Ronald Weasley, then leave!”

Ron looked as though she’d slapped him. His fair skin turned a shade of red that definitely didn’t go with his ginger-coloured hair, and he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes before retorting, “I can’t believe you’re taking his side!”

“There’s no side to take, Ron!” Hermione shot back. “Draco hasn’t said anything! We’re not in school anymore, for heaven’s sake. Draco is married to your best friend, so get over it!”

“And since when is he _Draco_?” Ron bellowed. “Last time I checked, the git’s always been _Malfoy_!”

“No, Ron!” Draco heard Harry protest from across the room just as a hot stab of pain shot through Draco’s belly, and he winced.

“Ron!” Hermione yelled exasperatedly.

Luna began explaining to Ron about how the marriage bond worked, although how she knew, Draco wasn’t sure. Then again, she was a Ravenclaw. Then several things happened at once: the Floo activated; Harry’s comforting arm came around Draco’s shoulder; Luna gently took Ron’s hand and pulled him aside; and Hermione morphed from a screaming banshee into a cool, collected hostess.

Draco’s muscles had just stopped twitching when Hermione returned from the living area with Blaise in tow. “Look who’s here, everyone!” She called pleasantly as if pandemonium hadn’t reigned just moments earlier.

Oddly, dinner was a relatively civilised affair.

Until Ginny Weasley showed up.

“I didn’t know you were having a party,” Ginny said, looking around at the group at the table in surprise. When her eyes hit Harry, they brightened.

“Harry! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you!” She grinned. Noticing Draco sitting beside Harry, the smile faded.

“Hello, Ginny” Hermione said, getting up from her seat. “Would you like to join us for dessert?”

“I just came by to return this book, but that pie really does look delicious,” Ginny replied, snagging the empty seat on the other side of Harry and scooting closer to him. “I hated the way we left things, Harry. Why haven’t you answered my owls?”

Draco’s bite of pie stuck in his throat. He _really_ didn’t like Ginny sitting beside Harry, and he wondered if the bond worked to give him this awful feeling of jealousy and possessiveness. He’d never felt this way about any of the people he’d dated in the past. He cast a glance Ginny’s way to find that she was talking avidly to Harry, who had turned her way.

Draco glanced around the table. Blaise chatted with Hermione, the two of them hitting it off more than a Slytherin and Gryffindor had any right to on a first date; Luna and Ron fed each other pie—a frankly disgusting sight; and Ginny leaned in toward Harry, talking about something broken in her flat, and would he please come have a look at it?

Draco slipped his arm around Harry’s waist, anchoring him in case Harry got any ideas about following Ginny to the Floo.

“I’m sure George could fix that for you,” he heard Harry say, and Draco couldn’t hide his smile.

“George is out of town,” Ginny replied. “Harry, are you saying we aren’t even friends anymore? I’m sorry for getting so angry last time we talked.” She pouted in a way Draco supposed might be considered pretty, if you liked the look of having sucked a lemon.

Draco could feel Harry’s guilt washing through him—she’d hit him right where it hurt, and the bitch knew it. And why should Draco care, really, if Harry went to fix something in her flat? Draco _shouldn’t_ care. Two weeks ago Harry had been nothing to him, and now it was only the bond that made him burn with desire for the idiot…yearn to hear the sound of his voice…smile at his laughter…ache at his pain.

_Shut up, Draco! You sound like a bad romance novel!_

A sudden wave of light-headedness swept over him, and Draco clutched Harry more snugly to him.

“Harry, I need you to take me home.”

Harry turned and looked at him, eyes concerned. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m not feeling well.” Draco kept his face stoic. Along with the feeling that his head floated above his shoulders, his stomach suddenly objected to all he’d consumed in the past hour. Hermione’s dinner obviously tasted better than it digested.

“Harry…”Ginny whined.

Draco took Harry’s hand under the table and squeezed it. “Please,” he whispered.

“You do look pale,” Harry said, getting up from the table. “Hermione, it’s been lovely, but I’m afraid we’ll have to be going. Perhaps we’ll have all of you over soon. Ginny, I’m sure you can find somebody in the Floo-book who can fix that.”

The look Ginny gave Draco was pure hatred, and Draco might have enjoyed it if he didn’t feel so awful.

Draco covered his mouth with his hand, and Harry led him to the Floo.

As soon as they made it home, Draco ran to the bathroom and sicked-up every bit that he’d eaten that night.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked from outside the door.

Draco hung over the commode, feeling ghastly. He didn’t even have the strength to answer.

Harry pushed the door open and walked in. A moment later, he pressed a wet cloth to Draco’s head.

Was this the wretched bond? Had it gone from torturing him with pain at night to giving him nausea after every meal? And why? He had Harry in close proximity, and Harry’s touch wasn’t alleviating it.

With a moan, Draco allowed Harry to lead him to the bedroom, undress him, and put him to bed with a wastebasket close at hand. Before Harry exited the room, Draco grasped him by the wrist.

“You don’t suppose Hermione poisoned me, do you?”

Harry laughed softly. “No. She actually likes you, you wanker.”

“You’re not…going anywhere, are you?” Draco asked uncertainly.

Harry smiled gently. “No. I’ll be to bed soon.”

OOO

Harry was worried about Draco. He thought everything was going well since Draco stopped doubling over in pain every evening until Harry plastered his body to him. It had obviously been the sex the bond wanted, and Harry couldn’t complain about that; the sex had been magnificent—while it lasted. Now all Draco did was throw up. He couldn’t keep any food down and was beginning to lose weight.

“You need to take him to see a Healer,” Hermione told Harry when she came to visit, bringing tea. “Two weeks of constant vomiting isn’t normal.”

“You’re right, Hermione. Will you help me to convince him to go? He probably won’t want to, and he’s really stubborn.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Hermione teased, following Harry into the bedroom where Draco was sat at the window looking out. Despite the frequent cleaning charms, the room was stuffy and close.

“Sorry,” Draco said listlessly, and Hermione just shook her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Here, I brewed you some special tea for nausea.”

Draco took it from her. “Thank you.”

“Draco,” Harry began, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I want to take you to St Mungo’s. This has gone on too long.”

To Harry’s surprise, Draco nodded. “All right.”

“You’ll go?”

“Yes,” Draco set the tea cup on the window sill. “At first I thought this had to do with the bond, but now I don’t think so. Something’s really wrong with me.”

Anxiety gripped Harry’s stomach, but he put on his confident face. “Everything will be okay. Let’s just get you to the hospital. Hermione, will you come with us?” He looked to his friend, needing her moral support. She smiled and nodded.

“Of course I will.”

Thankfully, St Mungo’s was not crowded. Harry was disturbed at how weak Draco had become—he had to be supported between Harry and Hermione until they could find a seat for him and then drooped in the chair, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. When they finally got Draco in to see a mediwitch, she took one look at him and cast a rehydration spell.

“I need to know everything that’s been going on,” she ordered.

Harry told Healer Filbert absolutely everything he could think of about the bond and everything else he knew about Draco. She was a stout woman with a crooked nose and a bit of a mustache, and she obviously suffered no fools, drilling Harry with ruthless intensity, all the while being gentle and kind to her patient. Harry found himself liking her very much, and he could tell Hermione felt the same, although even she seemed a bit cowed by her.

“I know a bit about bonds, and this isn’t the way they work,” Healer Filbert stated, reinforcing Harry’s worst fear—Draco was really sick. “Why have you waited two weeks to come to me?”

“We thought it would go away,” Harry replied weakly and got a beady-eyed stare in return.

Tapping her wand against her chin, the mediwitch contemplated for a moment. When Draco groaned, she absently stroked his arm. “There, there, love. We’ll figure this out.”

Harry clutched his hands behind his back, trying to keep out of the way. Draco looked so forlorn laying on the examining table, his long blond hair loose and sticking to his sweaty face. He looked even worse than he had when they arrived, and Harry wanted to go to him, but Healer Filbert had made it clear he was to stay out of the way. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks.

After a few moments, the mediwitch went to her bookcase and took down a large tome. Sitting at her desk and blowing the dust off it, she opened the book and began looking through it, every so often grunting and nodding her head.

“Interesting,” she said. “Very interesting.” She stood and approached Draco again. Wand raised, she did a complicated series of swirls over his supine body, the air filling with colourful traces of magic.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who kept her eyes glued to the process, lips parted.

“Oh, my. My, my, my,” the mediwitch said after a moment when the swirls began to glow. “Yes, there’s no doubt about it.”

“What? No doubt about what?” Harry stepped forward.

The mediwitch looked at him as though she’d forgotten he was there.

“Why, your husband is pregnant, Mr Potter. You’re going to have a baby!”

Harry heard Hermione’s gasp, but didn’t remember anything else until he looked up into Hermione’s kind, excited eyes from the perspective of the floor.

“What happened?” He rubbed his head.

“You fainted,” Hermione laughed.

“I did not!” Harry sat up and looked around. “Where’s Draco?”

“They’ve taken him to a room. Healer Filbert says he has to stay here until they get him sorted out. You’d better go up and see him; he was pretty upset when you keeled over.” She smiled fondly. “I think he likes you, Harry.”

Harry coloured.

“And I think you might like him a little bit, too,” Hermione added, obviously unable to keep from teasing him when he’s down.

“Did she really tell me Draco’s pregnant?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, a grin spreading over her pretty face. She helped Harry to his feet.

“I’ve heard it can happen with some pureblood wizards, and Healer Filbert thinks the bond prompted it.”

“But we’d only…we’d only _consummated_ it just before he got sick!”

Hermione shrugged. “Wizard pregnancies work differently, Harry. Isn’t this great? You’re going to be a daddy!”

Harry swayed, and Hermione grabbed him by his upper arms. “Oh, no. No more fainting for you. Let’s go see Draco before he pitches a fit.”

They went off to find Draco’s room, and when they did, Harry was happy to see his husband already looking a bit better.

“He’s been given lots of fluids and an anti-nausea potion,” a nurse told them with a smile before exiting the room.

“How are you?” Harry asked, approaching the bed where Draco lay propped up.

“I feel more human than I have in days,” Draco answered. “Harry, is it true? Can I really be—pregnant?”

“Evidently so,” Harry replied.

Draco moaned. “What is Father going to say?”

“Who cares what he has to say?” Harry replied sharply, and Draco looked up at him in surprise, grey eyes huge.

“If he dares say anything that upsets you, he’ll wish he hadn’t,” Harry continued fiercely. “Now get some rest, Draco.” He softened his voice. “You’re carrying our child.” He reached out and smoothed Draco’s hair back from his face.

Draco remained in St Mungo’s for a week, as he was in the final phase of growing the internal organs he needed for the pregnancy. Harry found himself at loose ends without his new husband at home with him. It was crazy how, in such a short amount of time, Harry had become so accustomed to having Draco there. The bed felt empty; the dinner table felt empty; the entire house felt empty. Even Kreacher seemed even more surly than usual, and Harry hadn’t thought that possible.

Harry sat for long hours in the newly decorated living room, talking to Lucy and pondering on how Draco had made the room so inviting and pleasing to the eye in just one short day. He kept noticing little things, such as how Draco had had Harry’s name engraved on the mantle and how he’d completed the book series for him, and wondered what it all meant that Draco had taken the time and care to do these things. Did their bond drive him to try to please Harry in these small ways?

When Harry was finally able to bring Draco home, Draco managed to keep food down without throwing it right back up. He had colour back in his cheeks, and as each day passed, he regained more and more of his energy.

Harry was happy when the day came that Draco picked up the catalogues again and began work on Harry’s study. He was even happier when Harry got up the nerve to kiss Draco and Draco responded with an impressive erection. Harry fucked Draco over the desk that day, and then again in bed that night. It seemed their sex life had resumed with a vengeance.

At Draco’s first scheduled appointment with Healer Filbert, she asked if they were having intercourse.

“Yes,” Harry glanced at Draco, who blushed in a way that made Harry hard. “I hope that’s okay.”

Healer Filbert chuckled. “It’s fine. In fact, it’s actually a good thing. With your bond, the more you touch, particularly sexually, the more healthy your relationship. As Draco enters his second trimester, he’ll become a bit randy. You’ll notice he might initiate intercourse often. Give it to him whenever he wants.”

If Harry thought Draco had been blushing before, his cheeks absolutely flamed red at the Healer's words.

Soon after that appointment, Draco took to having hot flashes; and therefore wore his thinnest robes about the house with nothing at all underneath. As randy as Healer Filbert predicted, Draco kept himself lubed and ready—-sometimes even waylaying Harry in the hallway for a quick fuck, arms against the wall, robes yanked up. Harry wasn’t complaining; he was more than willing, and somehow physically able to keep up with Draco’s needs.

Draco even surprised Harry at the bookshop a few times, bringing him his lunch and staying for a quick shag in the back room. At some point, these interludes turned into Harry closing the shop for lunch and the two of them having leisurely sex on the sofa, magically expanded to accommodate them.

Usually lunch ran quite long.

As Draco’s stomach began to swell into a small bump that reminded Harry that there was a little being growing inside him that was a part of them both, Harry decided he quite liked holding onto it while he plowed Draco from behind. He particularly enjoyed doing this in the shower, with the water trickling down Draco’s pale body and Harry’s other hand soapy and jerking Draco off. The sounds Draco made during these interludes—-soft whimpering groans and satisfied sighs that often held Harry’s name—- inflamed Harry, made him feel powerful and virile—that a strong, beautiful man such as Draco could shatter beneath him, could carry his child inside him. It was both mind-boggling and humbling at once.

During all this time, Harry and Draco didn’t discuss their feelings or the bond, but rather just took things on a day to day basis. Draco had a lot to adjust to with his body constantly changing, and Harry simply tried his best to help him through it. They kept to themselves, few of their friends knowing about the pregnancy.

When Draco was six months along, Pansy Parkinson returned from a year’s sabbatical in Thailand, and Harry and Draco decided it was time to have the dinner party they’d been meaning to have in reciprocation for Hermione’s.

Draco sat down to make the guest list.

They would invite Hermione and Blaise, who were now seeing one another; Ron and Luna, who’d recently become engaged; Pansy—and Draco tried to think of a sixth guest to even it out.

“How about Neville?” Harry suggested.

“I hardly think Longbottom is Pansy’s type,” Draco replied.

“Why not? Sometimes opposites attract,” Harry said, thinking that Draco looked fetching the way the white button-down shirt stretched over his expanded belly. Draco was embarrassed about his pregnant belly, but Harry couldn’t stop staring at it.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t think of anyone else…unless maybe Seamus Finnigan?”

“I believe he’s involved with someone,” Harry said. “I’ll invite Neville. He and Pansy don’t have to be a couple; they only have to eat.”

Draco sighed and scratched Neville’s name onto the paper with a quill before beginning on the menu.

OOO

 

On the night of the party, Draco felt heavy and sluggish. No matter what some of the books said, being a pregnant wizard wasn’t easy. The bigger the baby grew, the less room Draco had inside of him for his normal internal organs. He could no longer sleep on his back and breathe deeply, and no matter how much Harry looked at him with adoring eyes, Draco knew it was only because of the baby, and he felt like a blob. On the most recent appointment they had with Healer Filbert they’d hoped to find out the gender of the baby, but the foetus had been curled up and they couldn’t tell. Harry in particular had been very disappointed.

Whether or not Draco’s own feelings came from the bond, he wasn’t sure; but he did know that he felt very strongly for Harry now, particularly since Draco carried Harry’s child. That knowledge frightened him more than he was willing to admit to himself. Having feelings—positive feelings— for Harry Potter was not something he’d ever thought he’d experience. The fact that Draco strongly suspected that the bulk of Harry’s feelings for Draco were directed at the baby he carried made Draco feel sensitive, vulnerable, and more than a bit miserable. The moment Harry found out Draco was the receptacle for Potter spawn, it seemed Draco could do no wrong in Harry’s eyes, and Draco kept reminding himself of that fact every time Harry turned those adoring green eyes on him. It wouldn’t do to delude himself; once the baby arrived, Harry was sure to ignore Draco unless he wanted to fuck.

Finally, the night of the party arrived, and Kreacher out-did himself preparing the dinner Draco asked for. Draco wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but the old house-elf seemed to be softening a bit now that they expected a baby. He certainly kept a large supply of the ice cream bars Draco favoured in the freezer.

Ron and Luna arrived first, Luna absolutely beaming with happiness on the arm of the Weasel. She was too good for Ron, in Draco’s opinion, but there was no accounting to taste.

When Harry took their guests’ coats into the other room and Luna excused herself to go to the loo, Ron turned to Draco, eyes sweeping over his pregnant form, and said, “Well, I suppose Harry’s really yours now that you’re knocked up. He dumped my sister when he found out she couldn’t have kids, you know. He always did want a family, and now I guess he’s getting one, even if it is from the likes of you.”

Harry reappeared at that moment, brows raised, looking between Ron and Draco, Draco realized his mouth had dropped open and he shut it.

“What?” Harry asked.

Ron just shrugged and requested to see the nursery, which effectively took Harry’s mind off everything else.

Pansy came out of the Floo and immediately swooped in to hug Draco.

“Oh, my! Don’t you look darling pregnant?” she gushed. “I’ve missed you so much! Although you seem sad, angel, what is it?” She cradled Draco’s face between her hands. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Draco hugged her again a little too tightly. “Of course, don’t be silly. I’m just full of pregnancy hormones. You look lovely, Pansy.”

“Do you really think so?” Pansy twirled for him. “I bought this dress just this morning for the occasion. So where is Potter? I won’t believe you’re really bonded until I see it for myself. Your father must have been cracked when he thought this up.”

“A bit,” Draco said, mind still on Ron’s words, which had hurt more than Draco would ever admit. And they shouldn’t bother him; after all, they only underlined what Draco already knew.

“I mean, to make you Potter’s broodmare…”

“Pansy! Stop it.”

“I’m sorry, Draco, this can’t be easy.” She put a hand on his arm. “It must be awful being married to such a boring do-gooder, particularly after all those years of bad blood between you.”

Draco shook his head. “Don’t talk about him like that,” he snapped, surprising himself as much as Pansy.

“What? Oh, the bond won’t let you hear negative things about him?” Pansy surmised.

Draco put a hand on his pregnant belly and frowned. “I can hear things about him; I just don’t want to. He’s my husband, Pansy.”

“You can’t tell me you like being married to him!” Pansy’s expression was almost comically shocked.

“I can, and I am,” Draco said, realising it was true. “I’m just not so sure the feeling is mutual, though Harry’s ecstatic about the baby. Come, I’ll fix you one of those awful fruity drinks you like.”

He could feel Pansy staring into his back as they walked to the dining room.

“Well, he’s crazy if he doesn’t feel the same, Draco,” Pansy said after a moment, coming around as Draco hoped she would. “You’re absolutely perfect in every way, and he’s lucky to have you.”

Draco smiled at her and began making her drink.

Luna entered the room, a vapid smile on her face. “Hello, Pansy,” she greeted the other woman. “Draco, your plants in the powder room need watering.”

Draco nodded, accustomed to her ways. “Okay.”

“How are you feeling?” Luna asked, eyes wide and guileless as always.

“I’m doing well, Luna, thank you. Can I fix you a drink?”

“Some wine would be lovely, thanks. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“They couldn’t tell. Perhaps we’ll find out during the next appointment.”

Luna and Pansy began to chat and Hermione and Blaise arrived through the Floo.

When Harry and Ron came back downstairs, Neville was just stepping into the dining room.

“Hello, everybody,” Harry greeted them, and Draco took a moment to admire how his husband looked beneath the soft lights of the candelabra, the moss green of his jumper bringing out the colour of his eyes.

“Neville!” Harry clapped Neville on the back. “Good to see you.”

“How are you doing, Harry?” Neville smiled. “I heard about you and Draco.” He turned and shook Draco’s hand. “I must say, I was a little surprised.”

“I suppose with our history, you had to be,” Harry laughed. “Draco’s father insisted on a bond between us as repayment for the life debt of my keeping them from the Dementor’s Kiss.”

As Harry continued talking, Draco moved away from the conversation, disliking the reminder that he and Harry weren’t a normal sort of couple. If he were honest with himself, he was a bit jealous of Luna and Ron. No matter how misplaced Luna’s feelings must be for her to be marrying a git like Ron, their engagement had come out of love and choice rather than magic and force as his and Harry’s had done. And the two of them seemed happy together, snuggled up on the sofa as they were like mated kneazles.

And then Harry pulled Draco back, hand finding Draco’s swollen stomach, chatting excitedly about the baby, and Draco felt like an incubator for a science project. The more Harry talked to his friends about the baby, the more miserable Draco got, even though Draco himself was excited about the new life growing inside him—part him, part Harry.

But Harry’s enthusiasm and love for the baby was what Draco had begun to want for himself. Theirs was a loveless marriage, at least real love, and Draco now yearned for more. He’d had feelings forced upon him by a bond, and so had Potter, and it wasn’t fair, dammit! As Draco watched Blaise and Hermione’s newfound love bloom before his eyes, a melancholy fell over him that he couldn’t shake.

By the time the last guest left, Draco was despondent, and he locked himself in the bathroom.

“Draco, what is it?” Harry finally knocked on the door. “Are you ill?”

 _Of course,_ Draco thought, _he’s worried about the baby._

“Don’t worry, Potter,” Draco gasped in pain, because although it had been a while since Draco had addressed his husband by his surname, the bond evidently still didn’t like it, “your spawn is quite safe in its incubator.” The last bit came out through gritted teeth as Draco gripped the edge of the sink and rode the wave of agonising punishment he got at not having corrected his error.

“Draco, open the door,” Harry ordered, voice steely.

Draco ignored him, staring at himself in the mirror. His long hair hung disheveled about his face and his grey eyes looked back at him, wide and sad. “You ought to be ashamed to be a Malfoy,” he growled at himself.

A moment later, Harry had the door open.

“Have you ever heard of privacy?” Draco asked tonelessly over his shoulder.

“Not when we’re talking about my child,” Harry answered.

“I said the baby was fine! Leave me alone!” Draco meant to yell, but to his mortified horror, it came out more of a gut-wrenching sob.

“Draco,” Harry’s voice softened, and he took Draco by the hand, tugging him around. Draco suddenly wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in Harry’s arms, but the idea of being manipulated by the bond angered him further. He pushed past Harry into the bedroom.

“This bond is ruining our lives!” he growled, sitting on the edge of the bed and toeing off his shoes while Harry stood at the bathroom door staring. “We can’t think for ourselves anymore, you realize that? A year ago, we hated one another, and now we fuck like bunnies and I’m knocked up with your baby!”

Draco angrily wiped the tears from his face. “I have these…these _thoughts!_ I want your _attention_ , of all things!” He laughed mirthlessly. “How crazy is that? The bond turned you away from the woman you love, and I can’t stand it! We’re puppets, Potter—ooff!” he doubled up in pain.

Harry was there in an instant.

“Draco, say my name,” he remonstrated, and when Draco didn’t, Harry ordered loudly, “Draco, say it!”

“H-harry,” Draco mumbled, and the pain let go.

“You are a stubborn git,” Harry murmured into Draco’s temple, pulling him close.

“Takes one to know one,” Draco sighed, body trembling in reaction to his tirade and the punishment of the bond. The baby did a somersault, and Draco gasped, straightening up.

“What is it?” Harry asked nervously.

Draco took Harry’s hand and set it on his stomach, waiting. A moment later, and the baby did it again.

“Merlin’s wand, that was amazing!” Harry’s eyes grew wide with wonder, and Draco couldn’t help but smile.

“Draco,” Harry said after a moment, “if it helps, I’m feeling all those things, too. And even if it is the bond manipulating us, well, it’s not so bad, is it?”

Draco had to admit it wasn’t. Harry slipped his shoes off and unbuttoned Draco’s shirt, and the two of them inched up on the bed to lie side by side, Harry’s hand over Draco’s stomach.

“And the bond did not take me from the woman I love. I was going to break things off with Ginny anyway.”

Draco looked at Harry. “You were?”

“Yes. I wasn’t happy.”

The baby moved again.

“It feels like you have a big fish in there,” Harry said into Draco’s ear.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “It is like that.” He turned his head and looked into Harry’s eyes, and then Harry kissed him, tongue sweeping into Draco’s mouth. It was a sweet kiss, not a prelude to sex, and Draco found himself trailing his fingers down Harry’s face, stroking his ear with his thumb, feelings so tender they threatened to bring tears again.

They kissed for a long time, Harry stroking Draco’s long hair, tangling his fingers in it.

“I love your hair,” Harry sighed when they parted. “It’s so blond, and I love it long like this.” He brought a strand to his nose and sniffed it. “It smells so good. What is that stuff you use on it?”

“A cleansing potion I brew myself,” Draco answered, pleased at the compliment. “It’s a mixture of herbs from Mother’s garden.”

“Your hair’s so white,” Harry said, studying him, “but your eyelashes are tipped in gold.” His eyes swept over Draco, and Draco shivered. “The hair around your cock has that same gold in it.”

Draco looked at Harry and smirked a little. Harry’s fingers found Draco’s flies without the two of them breaking eye contact, and Draco arched at the feel of Harry’s fingers on him. Harry leaned down to kiss Draco’s lips as he stroked him, Draco letting out the occasional moan into Harry’s mouth.

“Ahh…Harry,” Draco reached up to grip Harry’s shoulder as sensation built, the feel of Harry’s tongue in his mouth and Harry’s hand on his cock overloading Draco’s system. A moment later and his body jerked, Harry gently pumping Draco and kissing him through the waves of pleasure.

When Draco was himself again, he invited Harry to strip off and straddle Draco’s chest Propping his head on pillows, Draco took Harry’s erect cock in his hand and sucked and licked it with pleasure, occasionally casting coy glances up at Harry, who looked down at him with something akin to reverence. Draco rather liked this submissive stance with Harry appearing to dominate him, although they both knew Draco held all the power in this, just as he held Harry’s balls in the palm of his hand, kneading them as he pleasured Harry with his mouth.

When Harry groaned and grabbed a handful of Draco’s long hair, Draco smiled and sucked harder, wringing a cry of pleasure from Harry’s lips.

“Oh, fuck, Draco…”

Draco took Harry all the way to the root, swallowing the tip, and Harry’s nuts drew tight in Draco’s palm. So far down his throat Draco had Harry’s cock, that Draco didn’t even taste Harry’s release.

As they fell asleep in each other’s arms, Draco thought perhaps the bond wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

OOO

 

Draco lay on the examination table holding Harry’s hand, and Harry squeezed it reassuringly. It was his eighth month, and so far it had been impossible to see the baby’s gender, but Harry hoped that this time they would. As Healer Filbert cast a spell above Draco’s mid-section and the image appeared of the baby contentedly sucking its thumb, both he and Draco sighed in disappointment to see its legs drawn up again.

“It doesn’t have a lot of room in there,” Healer Filbert said. “It happens a lot in male pregnancies due to males not having hips to speak of.”

Resigned to remaining in the dark on the baby’s sex, Harry looked at other details of their child. The vision wasn’t very clear, but he could tell the baby had hair.

“It sucks his thumb a lot,” Draco noted. “Must take after you, Harry.”

Harry mussed Draco’s hair, knowing how much he hated that. “Git,” he said fondly. “Does everything look good, Healer Filbert?”

“Everything looks excellent, Mr Potter...Mr Malfoy-Potter could go into labour anytime now. Male pregnancy due dates are difficult to determine as there are not the usual signs, but this baby looks to be term-size now. We’ll just have to wait and see. Best to pack a bag and be prepared.”

At lunch after the appointment, Draco looked at Harry determinedly, and Harry knew what he was going to say.

“Our child will not be born without a name,” Draco pointed a fork at Harry. “We will decide today.”

Harry made a face. “It’s so hard!”

“That’s what she said,” Draco replied, and Harry laughed. They’d picked that up from a Muggle TV show, Harry having bought a telly a few weeks previous, and every time Draco said it in his posh voice, it tickled Harry no end. Kreacher had taken to watching soap operas during the day while ironing.

“How about Scutum if it’s a boy?” Draco suggested.

Harry shook his head. “Reminds me of scrotum.”

“You have a point,” Draco said, taking a bite of his salad.

“Are you sure you want a constellation name?” Harry asked just to rile Draco up.

“We agreed!”

Harry grinned, and Draco gave him the two fingers.

“Musca?”

“Mucus.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Harry!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s what I think of!”

“Cancer.”

“That is a Muggle disease.”

“Carina for a girl.”

Harry paused. “Now that I like.”

Draco perked up. “Really? Brilliant! We have the girl’s name!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at Draco’s enthusiasm. His heart flipped in his chest Draco looked wonderful pregnant. With every month that passed, he grew more…soft, somehow. Sweet. Lovely. Harry had to chuckle inwardly at that—Draco would hate the description.

“Now for the boy’s name.” Draco took a sip of water, and Harry suddenly just wanted to kiss him.

“What?” Draco asked, catching Harry staring.

“Nothing,” Harry thought a moment. “Let’s see…boy’s constellation names.”

“In Ursa Major. It has to be in Ursa Major,” Draco reminded him.

“Right. Of course. Caelum?”

Draco thought about that. “Caelum. Caelum.” He wrinkled his forehead, and Harry had the sudden thought Draco looked adorable.

“You know, Harry, I rather like it!” He smiled brightly, and Harry’s heart flipped again. He was beginning to wonder if the bond could possibly be responsible for what he felt for Draco, but he hadn’t said anything to Draco about it yet. The man was a mess of hormones and to be honest, Draco wasn’t the only one with insecurities. Harry wasn’t very keen on professing his love when Draco only felt for him what the bond forced him to.

Harry had noticed a big difference in sex since the night of their dinner party and Draco’s subsequent meltdown. It was more like love-making now, with each coming together more gentle and caring and less frenzied and hurried. They never spoke of it, but Harry felt a strengthening of the bond every time it happened. And with that strengthening came a growth in his feelings for Draco. Still, Harry couldn’t accept that everything he felt was due to the bond, just as there was no way that his love for their baby would have anything to do with the bond.

“I received a letter this morning,” Draco said. “We were in too much of a hurry for me to mention it before.”

Harry thought about why they were in a hurry—the luscious sex they’d had after they’d awakened, with Draco riding Harry slowly, the morning sun streaming in their bedroom window lighting Draco’s hair as it fell over his shoulders, the swell of their baby between them. Draco had looked beautiful, and Harry hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him. They’d had to rush afterward so as not to be late for their appointment with Healer Filbert.

“Who from?” Harry asked, finishing his sandwich.

“My parents. They’re back from their trip.”

Harry took the blue cloth napkin from his lap and wiped off his hands, setting it on the table.

“Oh. Did you write them back?”

“No time,” Draco said. “What do you want to do? Shall we pay them a visit?” The corners of his mouth quirked up in a mischievous smile. “I’d say they’ll be plenty surprised to see me in my current state, wouldn’t you?”

Harry nodded, rather relishing the thought. “Fine, then. I’ll go take care of the check.” He got up and left the table, deciding to detour into the men’s loo on the way back. When he returned, Harry was surprised to see Ginny standing at their table gesticulating wildly as her voice rose in anger.

“I can’t believe you’re going to have a baby! It’s like a slap in the face! If it weren’t for your kind, I could have my own children. Harry and I would still be together, and we’d be happy…he’s only with you because he’s a good person and didn’t want you to die. You’re pure evil, Draco Malfoy!”

Several patrons were already staring at the scene, open-mouthed. Draco got to his feet and wore the closed-off expression Harry was familiar with indicating how upset he was. His hand was splayed protectively over his stomach. Angry that Ginny was acting this way, particularly in public, Harry moved forward, maneuvering his way around tables to get to them.

“I hate you!” Ginny screeched, launching herself at Draco, as Draco side-stepped Ginny, and she hit the table with her hip, knocking the dishes to the floor. Ginny grabbed one of those dishes and threw it at Draco, hitting him in the chest.

“Ginny!” Harry yelled, horrified.

“Oh, why don’t you take up for him!” Ginny yelled sarcastically from her position on the floor. She scrambled to her feet, chest heaving and face red.

“You could have hurt the baby!” Harry grabbed her by the arm, none too gently.

“He’s ruined our lives, Harry! Can’t you see that? I’ve waited for you to come back to me—to see that all this is crazy! He’s got you under some kind of a spell—this bond his evil family chose!”

Draco had moved back against the wall, and Harry glanced up at him.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked quietly, and Draco nodded.

“Stop talking to him! Stop asking if he’s all right! I’m the one hurting here!” Ginny jerked Harry by the arm and pulled him around to face her. “I’m the victim in this situation, Harry! You and I both are.” She once again launched herself at Draco, nails ready to scratch his face.

Draco grabbed her wrists to hold her off.

“Let go of me!” Ginny struggled. “Let go, you bastard!”

Harry pulled Ginny away, and she collapsed on him, the fight seeming to go out of her all at once, and sobbed, sagging onto his shoulder. “I just want you to love me again, Harry. I just want it to be the way it was before.”

Harry stroked her hair and shushed her. He hadn’t realised that Ginny still hadn’t come to grips with the fact that Harry truly wasn’t available anymore. He’d only seen her a time or two since the night of Hermione’s dinner party, and evidently no one had mentioned Draco’s pregnancy to her in all this time.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Harry said calmly, and Draco led the way.

As soon as they got outside, Draco said, “I’m going to go home. My presence isn’t helping things.”

Harry nodded, knowing this was true. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay, then…I’ll see you in a bit.”

Harry led Ginny to a bench and sat her down.

“Ginny, you have to get over thinking that we’ll ever be together again,” Harry told her gently when she’d calmed a little. “We aren’t going to be.”

“All this time…I thought you’d come back. And he’s carrying your baby! Harry, how could you?” Ginny’s mascara ran down her wet face.

“Ginny, Draco and I are married. It’s…” he was going to say _natural for us to have a baby,_ but that would have been too cruel, considering that she couldn’t. “It’s time you forgot about me,” he said instead.

“You’re under a spell,” Ginny sniffled. “Why can’t you see that?” She shook her head miserably. “It’s probably not even your child.”

Harry sat up straight at that, annoyed. “Stop being ridiculous. It is my child, and we’re married and happy. Whether or not the bond started my feelings doesn’t matter—the fact is, I have feelings for Draco, and I love our child. I’m not ever leaving them. Things weren’t that good for you and me anyway, Ginny. I know now I’m more attracted to men than women.” He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Even if the bond somehow dissolved and Draco and I weren’t together, I wouldn’t come back to you. It’s time you accepted that.”

Ginny’s eyes widened and then filled with fresh tears, her face crumpling. Harry held her for a long time until she finally pushed him away and stood.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said weakly, getting to his feet.

“Don’t, Harry,” Ginny fished a tissue out of her purse and blew her nose. “You’re happy with your Death Eater husband and his baby, and I don’t need your pity.” Her face purpled. “I’m worth a hundred Draco Malfoys, and some day you’ll see that.”

Harry’s face hardened and his next words, although quiet, were filled with steely determination. “I’ll always care about you, but you’d better listen closely. If you ever try to hurt Draco or our baby again, you’ll be answering to me.”

Ginny’s nostrils flared, and she turned swiftly and Disapparated.

When Harry arrived home, he found Draco in the bedroom. Harry immediately had to laugh, because Draco had changed out of his robes and wore a pair of sweatpants and one of Dudley’s old shirts that Harry hadn’t realised he even still had.

Draco raised a brow. “What? I thought perhaps Father would appreciate this attire. What do you think?”

Harry laughed harder, still a bit rattled from the scene with Ginny. “It’s perfect,” he finally said.

“I sent Lucy with a note to my parents and got an immediate response. They’re expecting us.”

Harry took a step forward. “Are you all right? That was a pretty nasty scene at the restaurant.”

Draco nodded. “Fine.”

“Draco,” Harry ran his hand down Draco’s arm and felt him shiver.

“I’m sure your ex-lover is having a difficult time dealing with all this,” Draco said, continuing to survey his form in the full-length mirror.

“That doesn’t excuse the way she attacked you,” Harry pointed out.

Draco turned shuttered grey eyes on Harry then. “Ready to go?”

With a sigh and the thought that perhaps they could talk about it later, Harry nodded.

Malfoy Manor was lit up like a Christmas tree, every window aglow in the growing darkness as Draco and Harry approached the house from where they’d Apparated just outside the Wards.

Harry was a bit surprised when Draco took his hand as they climbed the steps to the porch, but he wrapped his fingers through Draco’s and watched as Draco opened the door.

Tetchy came out of the kitchen to meet them.

“Mr and Mrs Malfoy are in the sitting room,” the house-elf said, leading the way.

“Mother, Father,” Draco greeted them, letting go Harry’s hand as soon as they entered. Harry nodded at both of Draco’s parents, but decided to let Draco take the lead on how things would go.

“So nice of you to return from your sojourn in France,” Draco said, “I was beginning to think you’d miss your grandchild’s arrival.”

Narcissa and Lucius stood, and Harry had to hide a smile at the look on Lucius’ face as he took in Draco’s condition.

“You’re pregnant!” Lucius gasped.

“Very observant of you, Father,” Draco drawled.

Narcissa added, “And wearing Muggle clothing!”

“Well, you see, Mother, nothing else fits at the moment. I rather like it, actually. Very comfortable.”

Narcissa looked like she’d swallowed her tongue.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Draco’s mother seemed to regain her composure.

“Come in and sit. Tetchy made tea.”

Once they were all seated and served, Lucius continued to stare at Draco as though he were something unusually odd, and Narcissa took up the conversation.

“We went away, darling, because we wanted to give you some time to get used to the bond without our interference.”

“Kind of you,” Draco replied sarcastically.

Harry cleared his throat. “It would have been helpful to know exactly what kind of marriage bond it was—it certainly would have saved Draco some pain.”

Narcissa looked at Lucius.

“There would have been no pain if you acted as you should have, Draco,” Lucius told him. “It’s why I chose this particular bond; so that you would be cooperative on your wedding night.”

Draco glared at his father. “A bit of time to get used to one another before forcing us to touch intimately would have been nice.”

“Bah,” Lucius waved his hand scornfully. “You’ve known one another since you were eleven. I knew you would be stubborn, so this pushed things along. You get along well now, am I right?”

Draco sank back in his chair. “Yes.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

“I wouldn’t call days of torture no problem, Mr Malfoy,” Harry spoke up, tired of the man’s attitude.

“Days? You mean to say you didn’t consummate on your wedding night?” Lucius asked, stunned.

“No,” Harry answered. Draco turned his face away.

Lucius shook his head slowly. “Well, if you had, there would have been no pain to speak of. The bond is designed to bring you together.”

“It tortured Draco when he called me by my last name,” Harry told him sternly.

“Again, it’s just to reinforce intimacy. Very simple, really. If you acted as a married couple should have, there would be no problem at all. After a year, the pain stops altogether no matter how you act. If Draco really wants to call you Potter then, he may do so.”

“Anything else we should know?” Harry asked dryly.

“Really, Mr Potter, I don’t know why you are so put out. I wanted Draco to be as cooperative as possible; that’s why I chose this particular bond. It only pushed him toward you.”

“Only?” Draco asked coolly, head turning toward his father so he could fix his cold gaze upon him. “I was in torturous pain unless someone who had been my enemy for years granted me the embarrassing favour of allowing me to press my naked body to his.”

Lucius winced at the crass statement, and Narcissa looked down at her hands.

“What?” Draco asked. “Does that unsettle you? Imagine how it felt to _be there_?” Draco’s voice rose, and he stood with difficulty. Harry stood after him, putting a hand on his arm, not liking the red tinge that sprung to Draco’s cheeks, a sure sign his blood pressure was rising.

“Draco, calm down and sit.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Draco turned on Harry, pushing his arm away. “Everyone’s always telling me what to do! Father, you, the bond! I’m not a person anymore, just a…a puppet!”

“Draco,” Lucius said, “don’t be dramatic.”

Draco turned on him. “I have a right to be dramatic! This is your fault! It wasn’t enough that you repaid the life debt by giving me away. You used a bond that forced me into intimacy! A bond that forces feelings on me that I never asked for! A bond that makes me crave and love a man whom I once loathed! How do you think that makes me feel?”

Harry was torn between wanting to try to calm Draco and wanting to applaud him. His mind had also snagged on the words _crave and love_. Draco craved and loved him? His heart soared.

“And now I’m bearing his child? I didn’t even know I could do that! He’ll never be rid of us. You forced Harry to take me on, even though he didn’t want me and would have much rather accepted a simple thank you for saving our lives.” Draco’s chest heaved with emotion, but he kept his tears in check. Harry felt sure Draco did not want to cry in front of his father.

“Draco,” Narcissa walked around the table towards her son, “calm yourself. Think of the baby.”

Lucius stared at Draco, an odd look on his patrician face.

“Sit, darling,” Narcissa tugged Draco over to the sofa. Harry settled on Draco’s other side, taking his hand in his and squeezing it.

“Do you know how it feels having someone only care about me because of a magical bond?” Draco asked in a low voice, still staring at his father.

Silence hung in the room for long moments. Harry tried to think of something to say.

Undoubtedly some of his feelings for Draco were his own, but Draco wouldn’t believe that. Right now Harry just wanted Draco to settle down.

Lucius finally came to sit in the chair across from Draco.

“Son,” he began in a surprisingly soft tone. “Look me in the eye.”

When Draco reluctantly did, Lucius continued. “I may not be the best father, but I’ve never lied to you. This bond does not forge feelings between its recipients. It forces them together for consummation, yes. It forces them to address one another familiarly, yes. It forces others to treat them as a married couple in their presence, and it allows for fertility. But it does not and cannot change the feelings and emotions of the two people involved. If you have feelings for Harry, they are all your own. And vice versa.”

Harry bit his lip and looked at Draco, who had gone very pale. Harry placed his other hand over their joined hands, watching Draco’s face.

“Now,” Lucius said, standing up, “we’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Then we’d like to hear about our grandchild. Come, Narcissa.” He held out his hand to her, and the two exited the room, Narcissa with a small smile playing over her face.

Harry scooted closer to Draco on the sofa.

“This isn’t such a surprise to me, you know,” he said, and Draco looked at him, eyes wide.  
“What? How do you mean?”

Harry shrugged, smiling. “I’ve suspected I was in love with you for a while now. All this—” he waved his free hand between them, “can’t come from a bond.”

Draco’s face looked absolutely radiant at that moment.

“You mean you…you…you…”

Harry laughed, and Draco finally smiled.

Harry leaned in and kissed Draco gently on the mouth, loving the soft feel of his lips and the warmth of his tongue as it slipped out to meet his.

“Thank Merlin,” Draco breathed.

Harry kept kissing Draco, unable to get enough. He pressed in, tongue exploring inside Draco’s mouth, as Draco made enticing little noises of encouragement.

“We’d better call your parents in and talk to them,” Harry finally said, reluctantly pulling back.  
Draco nodded.

Harry reached down to adjust himself before getting off the sofa.

They didn’t arrive home until very late, Narcissa being particularly adamant about hearing every detail about the pregnancy so far.

Harry could tell Draco was knackered, and helped him out of the Muggle clothing.

“Do you really love me, Harry?” Draco’s voice came out of the darkness sometime after they’d gone to bed.

“Yes, Draco, I really do,” Harry replied with feeling. He reached up and touched Draco’s face.

“I love you, too,” Draco said, kissing Harry’s fingers, and Harry smiled.

OOO

 

Ron and Luna’s wedding was a large affair held out on the lawn in front of the Burrow. Ron had become a little more cordial toward Draco after Harry took Ron aside and explained to him that the bond had very little to do with his and Draco’s relationship, and that Harry was ecstatically happy. Ron admitted to Harry that he’d said some petty things to Draco about Ginny, and that he might have fueled some of his sister’s hopes about getting back with Harry. He apologized, both to Harry and later to Draco.

Ginny avoided Harry at the wedding, staying far away from him and from Draco, for which Harry was glad. Draco had reached term, and moved a bit sluggishly these days. Harry didn’t think Draco could avoid a well-cast hex, but Ginny seemed to have taken Harry’s last words to her to heart. She’d even brought a date to the wedding.

“Don’t you want to dance with me?” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear, giving the lobe a little lick. The sun dipped over the hills in the distance, and the band the Weasleys hired for the reception played a catchy tune as couples moved over the home-made dance floor.

“I can’t reach you over this bulge,” Draco sniffed. Draco made such an odd picture sitting there under the oak tree, his teacup resting on his large belly, that Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Harry grinned.

“Harry, Draco,” Molly Weasley lifted the skirts of her long dress as she moved over the grass toward them.

“You look magnificent, Molly,” Draco told her, kissing her cheek, and she blushed. The two had really taken to one another, to Harry’s shock and delight. She took the seat next to Draco and patted his leg. “How are you doing, sweetheart? You look tired.”

As usual around Molly and her doting, Draco pouted and milked it for all he was worth. “I’m all right, I guess. My feet hurt, though; and Harry’s being mean to me.”

“Harry!” Molly turned on him, and Harry drew back.

“I’m not! He just looks cute with that teacup on his belly, that’s all!”

“Draco doesn’t want to be reminded of how large his belly is right now,” Molly scolded, and behind her, Draco stuck his tongue out at Harry. The devil.

“Perhaps you should take him home,” Molly said, petting Draco’s head. “He needs his rest He must be ready to pop.” She leaned toward Harry and whispered conspiratorially. “You know, a little sex can bring about labour. Just saying.” She patted Harry’s shoulder and got up.

“Goodnight, boys! I’m off to have a dance with Arthur.”

“What did she say?” Draco asked. “You’re as red as that prized beet growing over there.” He pointed to the mishmash of a garden behind Harry.

“She thinks we ought to have sex to bring on your labour.”

“Will that really help?” Draco asked, cocking his head to the side.

Harry shrugged, a grin slowly spreading over his face. “It can’t hurt!”

At home, Harry happily stripped off every piece of Draco’s clothing, kissing each revealed patch of bare skin. When he finally took Draco into his mouth, Draco’s legs shook so hard, he could barely stand upright. Sucking Draco off was a little different now that Draco was so big; Harry couldn’t see Draco’s face over the swell of belly over Harry’s head, and Draco couldn’t reach Harry’s hair to pull and tug on it.

Harry let Draco’s cock slip out of his mouth, kissing it gently before standing.

“Turn around and kneel on this chair,” he directed, leading Draco over to the large, cushioned chair in the corner. Draco did so, opening his legs and resting his elbows on the back. Harry seated himself on the ottoman and, spreading Draco’s pale arse cheeks with his hands, blew over the puckered hole, making Draco shiver.

“I love your hole; it’s so pink and tiny.” Harry leaned in and flattened his tongue to it, feeling Draco shudder and jolt. Harry reached down between Draco’s legs and pulled at Draco’s stiff cock.

“Harry…” Draco moaned, head bowed.

Harry licked Draco again, then sucked, savouring the taste of Draco’s soft flesh. He enjoyed performing this most intimate of acts, and spent a long time at it, loosening Draco until he accepted Harry’s tongue inside him.

When Harry glanced to the side, he realised he could see their reflection in the mirror. It looked so decadent…Draco naked and kneeling on the chair, the large swell of his belly hanging down, Harry still clothed and seated behind Draco, face buried between his arse cheeks, jaw moving. He saw that Draco watched their reflection, too, and Harry reached down and undid his own flies, pulling himself out.

Draco groaned, and Harry picked up his wand, pointing it at Draco’s hole and casting a lubricating charm. When Draco’s hole quivered at the touch of Harry’s wand tip, Harry pushed it in a little ways, listening to Draco keen as he watched in the mirror.

Harry fucked Draco a little with the wand tip, listening to Draco whimper and watching him squirm. Finally, Harry couldn’t stand it anymore and began stripping off his clothing.  
Naked, he looked in the mirror, meeting Draco’s eyes before pushing all the way inside of him. Draco moaned and pushed back.

They were loud in their coupling. Draco had to plant his feet on the floor in order for Harry to be able to thrust properly, but once Harry set a rhythm, they were lost, grunting and crying out their pleasure. The chair scooted back inch by inch until it hit the wall, and Draco came all over its cushions long before Harry finished inside him.

Exhausted, they fell into bed.

“Think you might go into labour?” Harry asked, curling up behind Draco and pulling him close.

“I hope not; I’m too knackered to have a baby right now,” Draco answered sleepily. Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s shoulder.

When Harry awoke sometime later, it was dark, but his body was aligned with Draco’s back, and it was easy to slip his hardening cock inside Draco’s arse, still wet with Harry’s earlier release.

Lifting Draco’s leg up and over Harry’s hip, Harry fucked Draco slowly.

“Harry, gods, what time is it?” Draco murmured, coming alive under Harry’s hands.

“Don’t know; don’t care,” Harry groaned, speeding up a little.

Draco gasped, and Harry reached down to pump him in his hand.

In the early morning hours, Draco rode Harry, bouncing more vigorously than Harry thought him able, their skin slapping together loudly in the quiet room, Draco’s hair falling about his shoulders.

“I love you,” Harry said, watching Draco come apart.

“I love you,” Draco whispered later into Harry’s ear as Harry slipped back into sleep.

OOO

 

“Fuck, I’m sore,” Draco complained the following afternoon. He stared dolefully at his round belly.

“Are you ever coming out of there, child?”

It wasn’t for lack of trying. Harry lay sprawled on the parlour floor at Draco’s feet, salty taste of cum still in his mouth, having just sucked Draco off moments before.

Draco’s pants still bunched around his ankles, as he couldn’t reach to pull them up.

Lucy hooted at them from her perch. Harry suspected Kreacher had locked himself in his rooms, afraid to come out.

Earlier that morning, they’d gotten a Floo-call from Hermione, her face appearing in the green flames two inches from where Harry had been doing Draco doggy-style on that very rug. It had been horrifically embarrassing, and Harry had shut the Floo afterward for privacy.

“I don’t know where I’m getting this stamina from,” Harry wiped his face with his arm. “But it’s sure to run out soon.” He looked over at Draco’s flaccid cock and licked his lips.

Draco laughed. “That’ll be the day.—Oh!” Draco’s tone held more surprise than pain, and Harry lifted his head.

“What is it?”

Draco looked down. “I felt something. Twinge. Different than my normal twinges.”

Harry sat up and helped Draco get his pants back in place.

“O-oh…” Draco doubled up a little. “That one hurt.”

Harry stared. “Maybe it’s time?” He glanced at the packed bag by the Floo.

Draco doubled over. “Shit!”

“Okay, okay, let me get your robes…” Harry scrambled up the steps. When he came back down, he missed a step and almost slipped to the bottom. Draco leaned against the wall, breathing hard and clutching his middle.

“Don’t break your neck,” Draco admonished. He winced. “Fuck! Harry, this is coming on fast”  
“Okay, okay, everything’s fine. Let’s get you to St Mungo’s.” Harry grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note to Draco’s parents, attaching it to Lucy’s leg and letting her out the window. He opened the Floo and helped Draco into his robes, then sent him ahead to St Mungo’s, following quickly behind.

Healer Filbert arrived at the hospital quickly, and Harry felt relief just seeing her stern face.

“Hello, darling,” she greeted Draco, “are we ready to have that baby? It’s about time, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded, allowing her to ease him into a wheelchair.

“Harry, don’t leave,” Draco said, reaching out for Harry’s hand.

“I’m not leaving,” Harry assured him, squeezing Draco’s long fingers. “I’ve owled for your parents, and I’ll be with you the whole time.” He leaned down and kissed Draco’s forehead.

“He’s so hot,” Harry told Healer Filbert, worry creasing his brow. “Why would he have a fever?”

“Male pregnancies aren’t the same as female,” Healer Filbert told him. “His body is treating labour a bit like a disease it needs to fight off. He’ll be right as rain as soon as we get the baby out of him.” She pushed Draco’s chair down the hall, Harry walking beside it.

As they prepped Draco, Draco’s fever grew worse and he became delirious, calling out for Harry numerous times even though Harry kept assuring him he was right there. Harry’s stomach tied in knots, and more than once after the procedure started, he thought he might pass out.

It didn’t take long to extract the baby from Draco’s body, although Harry might have believed it had been hours. The medi-team continued to work on Draco as another group took the baby to a station and began cleaning it up. Harry’s eyes followed them before darting back to Draco, who was only semi-conscious, his eyes slits and his face pale.

Harry jumped, startled, when Healer Filbert’s voice suddenly rose in agitation. An alarm sounded, and someone pushed Harry back. A medi-wizard Harry didn’t know burst through the double doors, a myriad of spells filling the air above Draco’s bed.

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, fear overcoming him. Something was wrong. He forgot about the baby and everything else as terror at losing his husband consumed him.

When calm finally fell over the room and everyone stepped back, Harry stood clutching one of the hanging curtains in a tight grip.

“What happened?” he asked a relieved-looking Healer Filbert.

“Unforeseen complication—a lot of bleeding and a weakening of the magical core,” she explained. “Harry, this is Healer Brown, a specialist in magical core. He was on stand-by just in case.” She indicated the medi-wizard who had rushed in when the alarm sounded.

Healer Brown, a burly man with bushy gray hair, shook Harry’s hand. “Your husband is very weak and needs his rest. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Will he be all right?” Harry asked. He realized he was wringing his hands and tucked them under his arms.

“I’m hopeful. The next few hours will tell. He’s stable now.”

Harry’s heart dropped.

“Mr Potter?” a nurse touched his shoulder. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he turned to look at the bundle in her arms.

“Y-yes. Yes, please.”

The nurse placed the baby carefully in Harry’s arms, showing him how to support her head, and Harry stared down at the tiny face capped with downy white hair.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry whispered, blinking back tears.

An hour later, Harry sat with Hermione and Blaise by the windows in a private room as Narcissa and Lucius sat by Draco’s bed. Hermione held Carina, cooing at her softly.

“You want me to get you something to eat, Harry?” Blaise offered.

“What?” Harry blinked, looking at him. “Uh, no, thanks. Ron’s bringing something.” He went back to staring at Draco, who still hadn’t awakened. Narcissa held her son’s hand, talking softly to him.

The door opened and Ron and Luna appeared, bags of food in their hands. Ron carried them over to the table in the center of the room and began unpacking them.

“We brought a veritable feast,” he announced. “Come and get it.” Everyone slowly approached and began sifting through the sandwiches.

Luna walked over to the bed to gaze down at Draco, and Harry joined her. “His body’s very tired,” she said softly.

“I’m so worried about him,” Harry told her, voice breaking, and Luna wrapped her arms around him.

“You’re bonded. You should touch him, Harry.”

“Do you think it will help?” Harry wiped the tears from his face.

Luna nodded. “I really do. But eat first; you need your strength. And introduce me to your new daughter.”

The meal was solemn, although everyone praised and passed around the baby.

“She looks a bit like my mother’s baby pictures,” Narcissa commented, tilting her head to the side.

“Your mother looked like a wizened old apple,” Lucius retorted, and Narcissa smacked him on the arm.

“Lucius! What a thing to say.”

“It’s the truth. Carina is much prettier than your mother ever was.”

“I wonder what colour her eyes will be,” Hermione interrupted, hiding a smile.

“I hope they’re green like Harry’s,” Luna replied.

Harry could only eat half his sandwich, and when he was finished, he went to sit beside Draco, taking his hand in his and squeezing it.

“Come on, Draco, wake up. You need to look at our beautiful baby girl.” Bringing Draco’s hand to his lips, he kissed the knuckles and then the palm.

“Harry,” Hermione called to him softly, “perhaps you should climb up and stretch out beside him. The physical touch of the bond could only help.”

Luna nodded in agreement.

Harry slipped off his shoes and pulled off his jumper before climbing onto the narrow hospital bed, stretching out beside Draco, lying on his side so that the front of his body pressed against Draco’s side.

Leaning his head against Draco’s he whispered in his ear, “Draco, I can’t do this without you. Open your eyes. Please.”

When this brought no response, Harry nuzzled Draco’s ear and sighed.

One by one, family and friends left to give them some privacy. The baby slept in her bassinet beside the bed, peacefully sucking her thumb. Harry drifted for a while, and when he awoke, rose on one arm and gazed down at Draco, who looked to be sleeping peacefully himself.

“Looking back, I think I’ve always been drawn to you,” Harry said. “I know we fought, but there was always an energy there. It couldn’t be denied. Wake up, Draco. I need you.”

Draco’s lashes fluttered, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Draco?”

When Draco’s grey eyes opened and looked up at Harry, Harry never felt more relieved in his life. Or happier. He knew his smile must be about to split his face. “Hi.”

Draco smiled weakly, tried to move, and groaned.

“Easy, now. You’re going to be sore for a while. I need to get the Healer.” Harry leaned over and pushed the button for the nurse.

When she appeared at the door, Harry said, “My husband’s awake. Could you please get a Healer in here?”

Now that Draco had delivered, Healer Filbert had turned Draco’s case over to Healer Brown, the specialist in magical cores. He breezed in seconds later.

“Ah, Mr Malfoy-Potter, you’re awake! Excellent news.” He began poking and prodding Draco while Harry sat on the edge of the bed.

Healer Brown cast a few spells and watched the colours change above Draco’s body, a quill busy writing on a chart floating in midair as he listed off numbers and various inexplicable medical terms that Harry didn’t understand.

“Everything looks good, Mr Malfoy-Potter. The anomaly that occurred during the birth seems to have corrected itself naturally, and you should be on your feet again in a few days. I don’t necessarily expect it to happen in subsequent pregnancies—it was just one of those things. I’ll check on you again tomorrow, and now you gentlemen can concentrate on your new bundle of joy!” He smiled and left them alone.

Draco turned his head. “The baby…”

“It’s a girl!” Harry told him, lifting Carina out of the bassinet and bringing her over to lie in Draco’s arms. “Isn’t she beautiful? She looks just like you.”

Draco stared down at her. “No, she doesn’t. She looks like you, Harry.”

“Do you think so?” Harry was inordinately pleased. Draco nodded slowly.

“She’s gorgeous. Hello, princess,” he touched her tiny fist with one of his fingers. “I can’t believe she’s really here. What about her middle name?” Draco looked up at Harry, hair falling into his eyes.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to smooth the blond strands back. “Well, we could use your mother’s name.”

“Or yours,” Draco said quickly.

“We could use both.”

Draco looked down at the baby. “Carina Lily Narcissa Malfoy-Potter. What a mouthful.”

“I tell you what,” Harry said. “Why don’t we save my mother’s name for the next one? I’d like to have a lot of kids.”

Draco stared at him. “Fuck, Harry, let me get out of the hospital bed before you start talking about the next one, all right?”

Harry chuckled. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

“Draco,” Harry asked after the nurse had brought in a bottle and they’d fed Carina. She wiggled in Harry’s arms before letting out a gigantic burp that made both of her fathers laugh.

“Hm?”

“I’ve wanted to ask you what you think about maybe buying a house out in the country.”

Draco looked surprised. “Sell Grimmauld Place?”

“No, I don’t want to sell it, because Sirius gave it to me. But I’m not sure if I want to live there. Sometimes I get the feeling you’re uncomfortable there. Are you?”  
Draco looked away. “A little. I don’t have very happy memories of the place. My Auntie Walburga was rather mean.”

“I see. Well, then maybe you’d like to move? We can pick a place out together, with plenty of room and a nice yard. Maybe we can even have a horse or two.”

Draco smiled at that. “I’d like that, Harry.”

“Good, then. That’s what we’ll do.” He swaddled the baby in her blanket the way Narcissa had shown him and set her in the bassinet. Lying beside Draco again, he wrapped his arms around him. “And then perhaps we’ll have a wedding.”

Draco started. “A wedding? Why?”

“Because I want to be properly married to you, silly.” Harry tilted Draco’s chin so he had to look at him. “I love you, you know. We have a marriage bond, but a wedding with all our family and friends would be really nice. Besides, I want them all to know that what we have is the real thing.”

Draco looked up at Harry with adoring eyes. “You’re such a romantic, Harry Potter. It sounds perfect.”

They sealed it with a kiss.

 

~finis~


End file.
